Banded Dress and Black Coat
by Mr. Spinner
Summary: Four months after the Last Battle, the Al'Vere pact has been signed, a treaty between Towers White and Black. When the pact goes into effect, two students of the Towers will meet. And sparks will fly. An Accepted and a Dedicated, joining as friends (and perhaps something more). What could possibly go wrong. Post-AMoL. Rated T for safety. R&R
1. Prolouge

Banded Dress and Black Coat

Prolouge

Darlin Sisnera, King of Tear, stood stoically in the Heart of the Stone, the former resting place of the great sword Callandor. His eyes flickered to the thin hole in the Heart itself, where Rand al'Thor had plunged the famed blade to keep it safe until his return. Now the Lord Dragon was dead four months, and the Dragon's Peace had been put in place, his final gift to the world he had saved.

Darlin was genuinely happy for the Dragon's Peace, happy that such a horrifying loss of life that was the Last Battle would not be the herald of an even greater, drawn-out loss. The loss that monarchs scrambling for power and territory would cause. And with that, his thoughts returned to the point of this day, a similar purpose: the unity of opposing forces. Tear, until the past few years, had outlawed channeling since living memory, and so was perfect neutral ground for what was to happen today. Darlin swallowed his nervousness about channeling, a product of living and governing in Tear his entire life, and focused on his guests entering the Heart of the Stone.

Facing the King of Tear to his left strode Pevara Tazanovni, Watcher of the Seals, The Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat, elected after the Last Battle. Accompanying her were Cadsuane Melaidhrin of the Green Ajah and Moiraine Damodred of the Blue (also Darlin's cousin-by-marriage), accompanied by their Warders.

Facing Darlin to his right strode Logain Ablar, the newly-titled Sealbreaker, the Dragon's Fang, the M'Hael of the Black Tower. Acting as his escorts were Jahar Narishma一Callandor sheathed on his back一and Androl Genhald, the two newest members of the recently formed Telamons, the elite of the Asha'man.

Both leaders of their respective Towers sat at the oak table sitting before Darlin that had been brought into the Heart for this occasion; their escorts stood behind them. Darlin flipped through the papers he had brought with him, the product of three days debate between the very pair sitting before him. He patted the papers into order and slid the document, modeled after the Dragon's Peace, to Pevara Sedai.

"Ladies first," he quipped dryly. Pevara's eyebrow slid up at the jest, but she looked over the document without comment. After several minutes, satisfied that everything was properly spelled out, Pevara Sedai signed her name on the allotted line and dripped white wax onto the paper, which she pressed with the Flame of Tar Valon. She passed the document to Logain with a wane smile. Logain reviewed it himself, taking a bit more time, before signing his own name and pressing the Dragon's Fang into black wax and handing it back to Darlin.

Darlin resisted the urge to sigh in relief, grateful at the low key reactions, and passed the document on to a clerk, who would then copy it and send those copies to every nation, as well as to Tar valon and to Caemlyn. The original draft, embossed with the irrefutable seals of the Amyrlin Seat and M'Hael, would stay in the Stone, locked away as a fail-safe should anything happen to the copies.

"And so peace begins," logain intoned, standing with a sigh of relief. Pevara Sedai nodded at his words.

"The peace my predecessor died for. My this pact, the Al'Vere Pact, promote unity between us, brothers and sisters in the One Power." Pevara held her hand out to Logain, who shook it with a small smirk.

Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn, looked upon the events in the Stone of Tear with pride. The pool before him, displaying the events as if it were a window in reality, rippled as he allowed the image to fade. Rand was glad he had trusted Logain. And the new Amyrlin was an inspired choice. He believed she could break the short string of spectacular failures that had risen from the Red Ajah to the Amyrlin Seat.

Rand passed his hand over the surface of the blank, now full, leather-bound book in his hand, searing a few more sentences into the paper. He still possessed Lews Therin's memories, really _his own_ memories, and he had no intention of letting them go to waste when they could help the world.

Rand closed the book, the Dragon's Fang emblazoned on the cover. The book contained detailed descriptions and instructions for weaves and ter'angreal that had been lost after the Age of Legends. He had founded the Black Tower as a weapon against the Shadow, an attempt to right the wrongs that the Taint had caused in the name of male channelers. It had grown into so much more than that, as it rightly should have. It had begun to blossom into something great, and he would not let that legacy crumble due to sheer inexperience.

It was time to get to work.


	2. Chapter 1

**Greetings Readers! This story will encompass some of my thoughts on the future of the Wheel of Time universe, post-Last Battle, wrapped in the story of two channellers in the Fourth Age. If you have questions, feel free to PM me. Reviews are appreciated, as are potential plotlines.**

 **Anyway, let's get on with the story!**

Chapter One

The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one age, called the Fourth Age by some, an Age yet to come, and age long passed, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are no beginnings to the Wheel of Time. but it was a beginning.

The wind flowed down the mountains, passed the Sand Hills and the deep forests into the Two Rivers, into the growing town of Emond's Field. It brushed passed the mayor and his wife, still grieving for their daughter, Egwene. Grieving, yet so proud of their little girl. The wind lifted their spirits, in the way fresh breezes tend to do, and moved on. The wind flowed on and on, to the city of Caemlyn, through the outer and Inner Cities and into the city's palace. The breeze ruffled the hair of Elayne Trakand, Andor's queen, as she oversaw the rebuilding of the palace. Just as the city around it was being rebuilt, just as all the lands were slowly recovering.

The wind turned south and flowed on two leagues south of Camelyn, to what had once, just two years ago, been a deserted farm. It had been repurposed since then; now it was a bustling self-sustaining military compound. But the only soldiers who came to this place were the initiates. Men who had come to learn to channel saidin. To learn at the Black Tower.

Within the compound, surrounded by a massive black wall, stood all the makings of a small town: smithies, carpenters, tailors, stables, and all other manner of craftsmen, even taverns and a few inns. The Black Tower had grown with intent to rival, and eventually succeed, the White Tower and Tar Valon to the north; that meant it had to support itself and its residents in any way possible. And among all of the mundane workers and citizens strode men of all nations in long black coats with swords at their hips, the Asha'man.

Outside the town, as far from it as you could get and stay within the the wall, the young man Riften Arason sat on a boulder, his back against the wall itself, sharpening his sword. The silver sword pin on the left collar of his coat marked him as a Dedicated, the rank between the initiates一the soldiers一and full-fledged Asha'man. And while he was eager to receive the dragon pin that would mark him as Asha'man, he was content with the sword.

Riften, "Rif" as he liked to be called, gave his sword one last scrape of the whetstone before testing the edge with his thumb. "Sharp as a gateway," he chuckled. No sword could be as sharp as the impossibly keen edge of a gateway, but Rif liked the comparison. It sounded very … Asha'man-like. With a few flourishes, Rif slid his word into its scabbard and started for the Dedicated barracks.

Rif walked slowly, trying to savor the relative quiet of this far from the towns of the Tower. Aside from the wall, the area could have been a very large field. He didn't regret coming to the Black Tower, not at all, but sometimes he missed hunting in the forests high in the Mountains of Mist with his "uncles". The quiet, the trees and grass, the smell of flowers and the songs of birds. Maybe when he earned his dragon pin he would go home for a while. But that day was not this day.

As Rif neared the second settlement of the Black Tower, the one that housed the Asha'man and initiates themselves, his pace sped up. He loved nature, but he had come to view the Black Tower and its towns as something of a second home. He'd been here a year and a half, and in that time the compound had grown considerably. Hard to believe it had originally been just an abandoned farm.

Rif passed the palace where the M'Hael Logain and the eight (so far) Telamons lived, heavily altered in the months since Tarmon Gai'don, and pressed on. He passed soldiers doing work with the Power, training themselves while building the actual Black Tower and strengthening the town itself, and smiled to himself. Six months ago he had been in that very position.

As Rif neared the house that he shared with a number of other Dedicated, Rif stopped short. Standing on the porch was the Asha'man Jahar Narishma, one of the Telamons, Keeper of Callandor, the Sword That Is Not a Sword. Asha'man Narishma smiled at Rif's approach. Rif clapped his fist to his chest in the Asha'man salute.

"Good evening, Dedicated. I hope you are well," Narishma greeted, his long, bell-woven braids tinkling in the wind. Rif hesitated and glanced backward, looking for another Dedicated. Surely Narishma was not referring to him. Narishma laughed as he descended the steps to stand in front of Rif. "Yes, you, young Riften."

Rif swallowed his nervousness. "May I help you, Asha'man?" he asked. Rif was a sunny young man by nature and several Asha'man had for some reason had found that annoying in the past. Had he offended one of the Telamons? But if he had, why was Narishma greeting him so brightly.

"Calm down, young Riften. I have actually come to ask you to ask a request of you." A request? "I have a mission in mind for you, if you will have it." Rif nodded without thinking, a wide smile on his face. "Yes sir, Asha'man Narishma!" he answered.

Narishma smiled dryly. "You don't even know what it is," he pointed out. Rif deflated, then considered the words and rose again.

"May I know what it is?" he asked. Narishma nodded in approval.

"Better," he noted. Narishma reached into his coat and removed a sealed letter. "Go inside and rest, then read this. I f you agree to take up the mission, report to the northern gate at first light." He handed the note to Rif and departed.

* * *

That night, Rif sat on his bed with the letter in his hands. He had read it twice by the ball of light he had summoned and tied off, but he read it one more time to make sure.

 **Riften Arason, you have been chosen as part of the detachment of Dedicated sent to the White Tower for a period of six months to two years as part of the Al'Vere Pact between the M'Hael and Amyrlin Seat. Three Accepted will be brought to the Black Tower in return.**

 **While living in Tar Valon, you will follow the instructions of the Aes Sedai in learning to collaborate with Accepted of the White Tower to promote cooperation between our two branches. You are expected to act civilly and respectfully to our sisters in the Power until you return.**

 **If you accept your mission, report to the northern gate at first light with anything you wish to carry with you. You will be transported to Tar Valon by gateway.**

 **With respect,**

 **Logain Ablar**

 **Seal Breaker**

 **Dragon's Fang**

 **M'Hael of the Black Tower**

Rif placed the folded letter in his bedside drawer and sat back to think. Why would they choose him to go to the White Tower? He was aware that the Al'Vere Pact一an agreement between the Black and White Towers named for the late Amyrlin Seat Egwene al'Vere一required that mid-tier students be sent to learn among other factions of channelers to spread knowledge and, in the Black Tower's case, promote union. Asha'man had already been sent to the Aiel Waste and the Sea Folk Islands to help establish organizations of male channellers there as well. He just never thought he would be chosen for one of these missions.

Rif didn't think he was being sent to get him out of the way. The pact stipulated that the traded students be among the best of the Towers' recruits. In a way, this was a compliment. And if he was honest with himself, Rif was curious almost to a fault, and that curiosity extended to what went on the White Tower. Overall, he really couldn't see a downside to going. Rif smiled as he made his decision. He stood and began to gather his things.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

At first light, Rif stood with his back once again to the wall of the Black Tower, next to the edge of the foregate, his pack at his feet, running over the checklist in his head. His coat was cleaned and pressed, the sword pin polished, his sword was sharpened and oiled, and all of his things were in his pack, including an extra coat.

Two other Dedicated with packs of their own, one a Cairhienin lord's son five years older than Rif and the other a Saldaean ex-farmer in his middle years, stood some distance apart; likely they were part of the mission, too. The town was already milling, business owners and workers trying to get a head start. First light was only minutes away; where was their escort?

Finally, four figures in black coats of Asha'man emerged from the crowd. Rif's eyes widened and all three Dedicated stood straighter. Narishma was one of the handlers, along with two other Telamons, Damer Flinn and Androl Genhald. The leading handler was Logain Ablar, the M'Hael himself. Logain was tall and well-built, and many would say quite handsome. The haunted look in his eyes from his narrow escape from being Turned by the Shadow had eased greatly over the half-year since the Last Battle.

"At ease, men," Logain said, letting the Dedicated relax. Rif rubbed above his eyebrow with his first two fingers, a habit his frequent headaches had never allowed him to break, then gathered his things and stood with the other Dedicated to listen.

"You three have been selected for qualities we need in the first team of Black Tower envoys to Tar Valon. Other groups have already been sent to the Aiel Waste and the Sea Folk Islands, but you three are going to our sister Tower. Therefore, you will be held to even higher standard. But that means your success will even sweeter when you return." Logain paused for a moment. "Any questions?"

During the speech, Rif had heard Androl mumble something under his breath about a quality the White Tower would stamp out. Rif could have sworn he was looking at the Cairhienin when he said it, and the thought made Rif grin inwardly.

The Saldaean raised a hand. 'Will we be bonding Aes Sedai, M'Hael?" he asked in a surprisingly soft voice. Logain looked the Dedicated (what was his name?!) straight in the eye, a sign of respect for asking the question on all three of their minds.

"That will be between you and the Aes Sedai," Logain answered, which did nothing to allay Rif's nerves on the matter. Before he could voice a follow-up question, a vertical slash of blue-white light cut through the air and turned, widening into a hole in the air that led to the Traveling grounds of the White Tower.

The Asha'man led the way, followed by the arrogant strut of the Cairhienin, the Saldaean's dignified stride, and Rif's determined tread. Logain and Narishma led the way through the grounds and hallways of the White Tower, never hesitating in their path. Finally, after what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, they stopped at a large door, presumably the entrance to a meeting hall.

Rif felt Logain seize saidin before he forced the doors open with a burst of Air. Rif grinned despite himself. Any resident of the Black Tower's village could tell you that dramatic entrances came with the coat and pins. Rif thought it contrasted well with the Aes Sedai's reputation for aloofness. Upon that thought, the sight of the women in the hall brought Rif's mood crashing back down. He strived for the stillness that his uncles had taught him, pointedly ignoring the Source that lingered just at the edge of his vision.

Inside the meeting hall sat the Amyrlin Seat, her Keeper of the Chronicles, and six other Aes Sedai of the remaining Ajahs. Eight of the most powerful women in the world facing seven Asha'man. Scratch that, four Asha'man and three Dedicated. Rif forced his face to look focused and determined, but had a feeling it only looked like he was fighting off terror. Logain led the way to approach the Amyrlin, Pevara Sedai.

Logain gave the slightest nod of respect, the nod one would give an equal, and Rif distinctly felt a smirk in his body language, difficult to judge from the back. Pevara's lips quirked slightly at his action, and she nodded in return. Saidin had been cleansed just over a year ago and Pevara Sedai had gentled no small number of male channelers herself, but those nods of camaraderie spoke volumes of the progress made since the Last Battle. Of course, it did help that the Amyrlin Seat was bonded to one of the Telamons.

"Welcome, M'Hael Logain," Pevara greeted courteously. Logain nodded again politely.

"I leave my men in your capable hands, Pevara Sedai," he replied. He gestured to the Asha'man and led the way out. Androl paused and gave the Amyrlin a shared look of affection before the doors closed. Rif gaped as the doors thudded with their departure.

That was it? They just greeted the Aes Sedai and left their Dedicated in the wolf den? Granted, they had probably arranged everything beforehand, but really? The whole thing seemed a little abrupt. Then again, that single word could describe all forms of training in the Black Tower. Why would their assignments be any different.

Rif rubbed his brow again, the beginnings of another headache coming on. A sharp clap brought him, as well as the others, back to attention. "You know why you have been brought here?" Pevara asked, or more accurately, demanded. All three nodded wordlessly.

"During your time here," she continued firmly, "you will attend various classes of the Tower's Accepted to better understand our history and philosophies. You will practice linking with Accepted and learning to direct these circles should it become necessary. And you will train in swordsmanship with Warders and their students to both sharpen your own skills and to teach them to combat channelers. As well as any other tasks we give you. You are here to learn, you are students, and you will be treated as such."

Pevara looked over them with a critical eye for several long moments, moments that made Rif feel like ants were crawling over him. Then she nodded her head and whispered to her Keeper, who in turn gestured to a girl in a banded white dress. An Accepted.

"Bodewhin, show these gentlemen to their rooms," the Amyrlin commanded, and strode out of the chamber, followed quickly by the rest of the sisters. Rif noticed the Cairhienin bristle at the Aes Sedai's dismissive tone and resisted a grin. What Androl had said about qualities stamped out was starting to make sense. The three Dedicated followed the girl, accompanied by an awkward silence, or at least awkward to Rif. During the journey, Rif marveled at the number of novices and Accepted milling about, doing chores and, presumably, on the way to lessons.

The Accepted, who seemed bitter at having to show men who could channel around the White Tower (and probably a little on edge about men who could channel in general), guided the Dedicated to a suite of guest rooms and gave them orders to report to the first dining hall early in the morning.

"The rest of the day is yours to do with as you see fit," she finished. A small, mischievous smile crept onto her face. "Enjoy it while it lasts." With that slightly ominous statement, she turned on her heel and departed.

Rif took a deep breath to offer encouragement to his companions, but turned to find both already closing their chamber doors. Rif sighed the breath away and entered his own quarters.

The room was fairly simple. A comfortable-looking bed on the far wall, a chest for storage, wardrobe, desk, and bedside table. The walls were unadorned white, broken only by a window above the bed. Rif placed his pack on the bed and sat, considering what to do next. He didn't want to go to the training grounds, not if he would spend too much time their later. The Tower's legendary library was probably swarming with Aes Sedai. Come to think of it, he didn't even know how to find the library. He didn't know where anything was. And with that, an idea crossed his mind.

Rif stood and unbuckled his sword belt, leaving it on the bed. It was time to do a little exploring. He left his room and roamed the hallways with a smile on his face, trying to look friendly with a touch of sinisterness. He had heard some horror stories about gentling and didn't want an Accepted getting any bright ideas about testing her strength against a man.

The White Tower was huge, and packed with people; groups of Aes Sedai of all Ajahs, lone Accepted, packs of novices, servants doing their duties, Tower guards, and petitioners to the Aes Sedai. But no matter where he went or who crossed his path, one thing was constant: the look on people's faces. Fear, mistrust, loathing, even hostility, and more often than not mixed with a touch of curiosity.

Rif gritted his teeth and turned blindly down a hallway, then another, and another, until he appeared in the entrance to a large garden. A small trace of his smile returned at the sight of the plants and the fresh air. Rif removed his coat and hung it on a close tree branch, leaving him in a linen shirt and wool pants like he would have worn back home. He removed his boots of comfortably worn leather as well, savoring the feel of grass under his feet.

Rif moved into the garden and breathed in the smell of the flowers. It was too organized for the wild, but at least it was outdoors. Rif eyed one of the sloping willow trees sitting by a quaint pond and grinned. He seized the sweet freezing fire of the Source and ran under the sloping boughs, then jumped as high as he could, a funnel of Air lifting him higher into the branches.

Rif had been capable of channeling for three weeks when saidin was cleansed and he remembered quite sharply the revolting foulness of the Taint. And all this time later, he was just as grateful to the Light and to the Dragon Reborn for its cleansing. Even if he still wanted to cry every time he had to let the euphoric torrent go.

Rif closed his eyes and sighed in contentment, breathing in the smell of the garden and the willows. Green matter, grass, flowers, and … perfume? Rif stiffened, his eyes shot open, and he obeyed his first instinct. Look down. An Accepted (judging by the dress) was sitting at the base of the willow, reading a book and writing in a small notebook. She had dark hair. Rif leaned forward for a better look, forgetting for the moment that he was on a branch, and lost his balance. Goose pimples of fear raced along his arms as he cringed for impact and … didn't feel it.

Rif was floating three feet from the ground and the Accepted, the very same who had shown him to his room, was looking at him in a very, very angry way. The goose pimples remained, an effect of sensing saidar being held. Rif smiled widely, trying to calm the girl down, but was met only with a whip of Air striking his backside. "That's for spying on me," she said harshly. Another whip. "And that's for shirking on your chores."

Rif gaped at the Accepted, Bodewhin he recalled. She thought he was a servant of this ivory tower? With his black coat and sword pin … which were sitting on that tree branch near the garden entrance. Instinctive anger rose in Rif's gut, but was replaced with acceptance just as quickly. One Telamon he had befriended, Androl, had bonded an Aes Sedai (the soon-to-be Amyrlin, no less) and had once given some advice in regards to Aes Sedai. Be humble, and it will end quickly.

Rif put on his best apologetic pout, the one that he had used on his mother growing up. "My apologies, Accepted. I had finished my chores for the moment and … simply wanted a to rest a moment. I will resume my duties immediately if you let me free. Please." The last word seemed to make an impression. She let him collapse onto the grass, his goose pimples smoothing away, and he moved along. He grabbed his coat and made for the exit.

On impulse, he looked back to find Bodewhin once again reading and scribbling in her notebook, likely having forgotten he was there. A mischievous smile crept over his face and he seized the Source. A tendril of Air to lift her up (her indignant shriek was worth it already) and another across the backside, just as she had done to him. It may have been childish, but it was satisfying. By the time she had turned to face his direction, he was gone.

Rif retreated to his quarters after that to unpack, his coat replaced and straightened. And his smile was back in full force. Whatever came in the future, at least he had the memory of knocking an accepted down a peg.

As he entered his room and began unpacking, he found himself seriously considering that girl. She was quite pretty, with dark (he caught himself thinking "glossy") hair in an elegant (hold on, elegant?) braid. Her anger had masked it, but Rif thought he had seen a sparkle of mischief in her eyes that made him think of a fox. A lovely vixen with deep, beautiful ey一huh?" Rif shook his head and moved faster.

She was an Accepted, a step below some of the most haughty women in existence. She wouldn't remember him. And in a tower this huge, with tons of novices and Accepted scurrying around, he probably wouldn't see her again at all. But a deep feeling, deeper than rational thought一his uncles had called it a "hunter's instinct"一told him he was wrong. Very wrong.

 **What's in store for Riften in the White Tower? We'll soon find out. PS, see if you can peg who "Bodewhin" is.**


	3. Chapter 2

**I've got tons of chapters already written and felt the need to show the dual side of the coin. Without further ado, let chapter two begin!**

Chapter Two

Bodewhin "Bode" Cauthon, Accepted of the White Tower, strolled through the streets of Tar Valon, her white dress banded with seven colors announcing her station. It was a free day, one of the few, and she intended to enjoy it. Novices were not allowed to exit the Tower grounds under any circumstances, but Accepted had earned that right (in the company of a sister, of course.)

Bode passed a stand of well-made hats, its owner crying his wares. The hats made her think of her brother, who had visited recently. She briefly considered buying one to send to him, then thought better of it. He had seemed rather attached to his current piece. She smiled at the thought and pressed on after Teslyn Sedai.

After several hours of roaming the city and marveling at its wonders (as well as gong about any small task that crossed Teslyn Sedai's mind), Bode was on her way back to the White Tower, ready for a bath and a good book before dinner.

As she strode for the entrance to the Tower an Aes Sedai of the White Ajah approached. Bode offered a graceful curtsey一she was still an Accepted, after all一and smiled respectfully to the sister. The White regarded her with the cool neutrality characteristic of the White Ajah, and a simple nod for Teslyn Sedai, who nodded in turn and left them.

"Young Bodewhin, take this and read it after dinner," she ordered, holding out a sealed letter. "Tell no one of its contents." With that, the White sister turned and left, as if she had never been there. Bode turned the letter over in her hands and examined the seal. Red wax depicting the Flame of Tar Valon.

The Amyrlin had sent Bode a personal message. Or, more likely, a directive. Bode thought back to Egwene al'Vere and Nynaeve al'Meara, two women from her own Emond's Field, who had been sent on a secret mission to hunt the Black Ajah while only Accepted like her. Filled with carefully controlled excitement over the thought of a possible adventure, Bode bolted to her room to hide the letter. Dinner couldn't come fast enough, now.

* * *

That night, after dinner and a bath, Bode stared down at the letter in her hands, eyes wide with disbelief. She had been given a personal task, all right, but it was a far cry from anything she had expected.

 **Bodewhin Cauthon, within an hour of dawn, report to the small assembly hall of the east wing. The White Tower will be receiving its first consignment of Dedicated from the Black Tower, under the statutes of the Al'Vere Pact between the Amyrlin Seat and the Black Tower's M'Hael. In return, three Accepted shall be sent to the Black Tower for six months to two years.**

 **While the Dedicated are here, they will be educated in White Tower law, custom, and history and learn to link with Accepted to promote cooperation and wellbeing between our factions. Your task will be to show them to their rooms and instruct them on our standards. You are to act respectfully to our brothers in the One Power, to whom we owe much after three millennia of oppression.**

 **Pevara Tazanovni**

 **Watcher of the Seals**

 **Flame of Tar Valon**

 **The Amyrlin Seat**

Bode placed the letter and a separate sheet of directions to the Dedicated chambers and other instructions on her bedside table, struggling to maintain Aes Sedai-like composure using the exercises she had been taught as a novice. It was quite difficult.

She had been given a secret letter from the Amyrlin herself … to be assigned as an errand girl?! An escort?! No adventure, no secret plots, no excursions against the (admittedly few) surviving Shadowspawn that plagued the lands? Even creating more _cuendillar_ would have been at least a little interesting. Bit no, she was to be a _page girl_ to visitors from the Black Tower!

Bode suppressed a shiver at the thought. It was common knowledge that the male half of the True Source had been cleansed by the Dragon Reborn and Nynaeve Sedai. Many Aes Sedai had bonded Asha'man as Warders. The entire Red Ajah had even changed it purpose from hunting men to be gentled to cooperating with them! At least in theory. Still, old fears were hard to vanquish. A certain memory of Rand al'Thor lifting her in flows of Air and shouting at her came to mind.

Bode embraced the Source and, with a flow of Air, lifted a rock from her window sill to her hand. She had taken this stone from the slopes of Dragonmount itself, having observed and "accidentally" learned the weave for Traveling and wanting to test it out. She would have been sent to the Mistress of Novices if any sisters found out, but that had been four months ago.

The rock had a silky black sheen and was rather small, but quite heavy for its size. It nestled in the palm of her hand now, but had been over five times this size when she picked it up (it had been tricky to create a gateway within her room without leaving any signs).

Since taking it, she had often used it as an outlet for stresses within the Tower; using flows of Earth, her strongest Power, she had slowly condensed it over the past weeks. The task had given slow results, but it it was quite exhausting, which was the entire point. Now. she channeled every ounce of her frustration and一she hated to admit it一dread at the task ahead of her.

Bode squeezed until she couldn't channel to light a candle and released the Source. She opened her eyes and focused on the stone; her eyes widened in surprise at the result. The stone had been the size of her fist when she had begun and now was the size of her inner palm. Had she really been that afr一angry?

Bode placed the stone on her bedside table, weighing down the letter, and burrowed herself in her covers, snuffing the candle with her fingers. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

* * *

A short time after dawn, Bode (fully washed, dressed, and fed) stood at the far side of the meeting hall in the eastern wing, as per her instructions. Pevara Sedai, the Amyrlin herself, had deigned to observe this exchange, along with Tesan Sedai, her Keeper of Chronicles and member of the White Ajah, as well as six other Aes Sedai, rounding out the other Ajahs.

All eight projected the fabled Aes Sedai calm, which Bode struggled to imitate. Half an hour later, the doors to the room soared open with an invisible weave of Air, and in strode the delegation of the Black Tower. Bode focused on each one as they entered, assigning names to faces of those she had read about in the library and heard of in rumors.

At the head of the pack was Pevara Sedai's male counterpart, Logain Ablar the M'Hael of the Black Tower. He was tall and strongly built, with dark hair that curled around his shoulders. A series of small, circular scars dotted his face, supposedly marks from lava he had sustained in battle with Demandred. She had heard he was handsome, and the reality did not disappoint. The very way he walked resounded with confidence, bordering on arrogance.

Behind him, she could only assume, were members of the Telamons, the Asha'man elite. An older man with a fringe of grey hair and slight limp was Damer Flinn, Grand Healer of the Black Tower who matched Nynaeve Sedai in skill. An Arafellin, hair in braids with bells woven in and a large sword on his back, was Jahar Narishma, Keeper of Callandor the Sword that Is Not a Sword. And a stocky man in his middle years and a signet ring on his finger was Androl Genhald, Master of Gateways and Warder of the Amyrlin Seat.

Behind the Asha'man were three men of varying ages and nationalities, but all with a single detail in common: the black coat of the Tower with a sword pin on their collar, lacking a matching dragon. These were the Dedicated. Bode took all this in in the time it took for Logain and his men to cross the room and address Pevara Sedai.

Logain nodded to the Amyrlin with a smug grin, as if to an equal, to which Pevara Sedai responded with an identical nod and the slight beginning of a smile. "Welcome, M'Hael Logain," she greeted civilly. Logain nodded again.

"I leave my men in your capable hands, Pevara Sedai," he replied. He gestured to the Asha'man and led the way out. Bode's gaze followed them, a little stunned at their sudden departure. And apparently she was not the only one, as one of the Dedicated was staring a little slack-jawed at the doors. She noticed Androl trade a look and a smile with the Pevara Sedai. Their romance and engagement were legends in the Accepted's quarters.

Pevara Sedai clapped her hands, setting the Dedicated to attention. "You know why you have been brought here?" she asked in a commanding tone that brooked immediate answer. All three of them nodded in silence, apparently intimidated by the Amyrlin Seat. As well they should be.

"During your time here," she continued firmly, "you will attend various classes of the Tower's Accepted to better understand our history and philosophies, lessons that only time and trial can provide. You will learn to link with Accepted, both to experience and to direct these circles should it become necessary. And you will train in swordsmanship with Warders and their students to both sharpen your own skills and to teach them to combat channelers. As well as any other tasks we give you. You are here to learn, you are students, and you will be treated as such." She gave them one more level look, then shook her head and whispered to her Keeper, who in turn looked at Bode.

"Bodewhin, show these gentlemen to their rooms," the Amyrlin commanded, and elegantly strode out of the chamber, followed closely by the rest of the sisters. Bode noticed one of the Dedicated, a Cairhienin, bristle at the Amyrlin's dismissive tone. She suppressed a smile; that one had likely been a noble before joining the Black Tower.

Bode took the lead of the Dedicated and guided them toward the rooms that had been set aside for them, all the while her mood worsening. Sure, she had acted as a guide before, but never to male channelers. And she couldn't deny she was still a little nervous about that entire prospect. Finally, they arrived at the Dedicated's chambers. Bode turned and delivered their orders to report to the dining hall early in the morning.

"The rest of the day is to do with as you wish," she finished. She felt a small smile creep onto her face, her mood a little bit lighter at giving them orders. "Enjoy it while it lasts," she added, then raised her chin, turned her heel, and strode away.

Having been excused from teaching morning classes due to her task (at least some good came of it), Bode returned to her room and retrieved a copy of the Prophecies of the Dragon. After Mat had visited and told her stories of his adventures, she had taken up the hobby of reading the Prophecies and recording how they had come true. She personally believed that some verses referred to Mat and Perrin, as well.

Bode headed straight for her favorite garden, noticing a dark folded cloak hanging on one of the tree branches. Who would wear such a dark garment within the White Tower? She pushed the thought aside and sat in the shade of a willow tree, opening the book her the marked page.

Not ten seconds after sitting down, she heard an ominous creak from above and rolled away, embracing the Source and weaving a flow of Air. On reflex, she caught the man who had fallen. He was dressed in simple woolen clothing, no different from those who lived in the Two Rivers; he was likely a gardener who had gotten lazy and looked like a frightened rabbit.

Bode felt a twinge of frustration and swatted the gardener with a flow of Air. "That's for spying on me," she said, hoping to put the fear of the Light into him. Another whip, "And that's for shirking on your chores."

The gardener's eyes widened, then narrowed, then settled on a look of pure innocence. He assumed a pleading expression, almost a pout. "My apologies, Accepted. I had finished my chores and … simply wanted to rest a moment. I will resume my duties if you let me go. Please." Bode's eyebrow rose at the calm request. No groveling; that was a surprisingly pleasant change. She released the weaves, letting him drop to the grass.

The gardener hobbled to the garden entrance, stopping to take that dark cloak, and left without a bow or word of thanks. Bode shrugged it off, deciding he had simply been eager to get back to work and avoid further involvement with the One Power. She settled back down and returned to her book.

No sooner had she found the line she had left than a weave of Air lifted her to her feet with an indignant shriek. Another weave came and swatted her backside, just as she had done to the gardener, and then the flows dispersed and let her fall back to the ground. Bode felt mortification rise within her breast, quickly replaced with icy dread. She had not felt those flows, or seen them. Could that mean it had been one of the Dedicated. Or even a man untrained?

Bode squashed those thoughts and her fear. She had been distracted. Yes, that was it. Bode settled down and continued her analysis. But throughout the day, she couldn't banish the thought completely. She had been handled like a doll by a man!

 **For the record, this chapter was intentionally similar to chapter one. Read, review, and power on faithful readers!**


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Bode walked quickly to the dining hall to the dining hall, projecting serenity she did not feel. She was still a little on edge from the incident in the garden yesterday, even after a full night's sleep. Rumors had been circulating about the trio of Black Tower Dedicated arriving. A tiny, unwelcome voice reminded her that she hadn't sensed channeling when that weave hit her backside; it must have been _saidin_.

Bode banished those thoughts aside as she entered the dining hall and stood in line with the other Accepted, the smells of breakfast helping distract her. Bode smiled as she joined a group of her friends in line, but he smile faltered when the silence hit her. All Accepted tended to be quiet during meals, never really getting used to the fact that they were allowed after being raised from novices. But this was different, a tense sort of silence; even Jinny Calwell, usually so brightly talkative, remained silent.

"What's wrong?" Bode asked, a little unnerved at her friend's behavior. Jinny pointed across the hall to a table in the far back. Most of the table was empty, an unusual sight with so many Accepted in the Tower, except for three figures in black. The envoys. Well, at least they had arrived early, like she had told them. Bode steeled herself, forcing her nervousness down. The Aes Sedai who had bonded Asha'man were quite adamant that _saidin_ had been cleansed. Their madness was no longer an issue, and she would not let herself be frightened of them anymore.

"I heard they will be attending Accepted classes," one of the group whispered. Bode grinned ruefully at how right she was and kept one eye on the table all through breakfast. Her first class of the day was right after this meal. Mat had legendary luck; maybe a little had rubbed off on her and help her avoid the Dedicated, especially whichever she _may_ have encountered the day before.

After breakfast, Bode said her goodbyes and strode to her class fighting a different set of nerves, yet displayed an outward serenity that would rival a full Aes Sedai. She sat, as always, as close as she could to the front of the class. Unlike other times, she kept her eye on the door. Bode shook her head and scolded herself for being so scared and forced herself to relax, noting that she had done that a lot this morning.

Other Accepted trickled into the class, most looking even more nervous that bode felt. Rumor had a habit of exaggerating, especially among Accepted. She had actually heard one girl claim the Dedicated had dueled the Amyrlin Seat and _won_ the right to learn at the White Tower. Others claimed they had fought the entire Hall of Servants. Others even that they had fought the entire hall armed with all the _angreal_ in the storeroom! Bode chuckled at the tall tales, in a better position to laugh that yesterday. The class continued to fill to its breaking point, and no men in black entered.

Finally, their instructor arrived. Leane Sharif of the Green, formerly of the Blue. Another legend among Accepted. Though weaker since her stilling had been Healed, she was the only Aes Sedai to have ever changed Ajahs. And likely the only who ever would. Bode let out a small sigh of relief, all the tension in her falling away, and focused on Leane Sedai. Her focus was shattered by the door opening and a deep, definitely not-feminine voice.

"Apologies, Leane Sedai," that male, vaguely familiar voice said. "Everything looks alike in this place." Bode whipped her head around to confirm. Closing the door stood … an Andoran in a long black coat. It seemed her brother's luck was not a family matter, after all.

'Your apology is accepted, child," Leane Sedai answered with a small smile. The young channeler grimaced a bit at being called a child, but smiled and sat at the front of the room without a word of complaint. The class went by as if he weren't there; he just sat and watched, his body relaxed and his eyes intent.

The class was simple: the accepted were to practice forming a circle, just as they had been taught as novices during the Tower Schism to fight off Bubbles of Evil. Bode smiled in triumph every time she led a circle. The girls seemed to defer to her for some reason, preferring that she lead. While she didn't understand it, she could still enjoy it. Besides, Laene Sedai had said that the one who showed the most promise would be given a special test. A small part of Bode felt this was a trap; that you should never take an Aes Sedai's words at face value. But that small part was overshadowed by two far larger parts: the urge to succeed and the desire to show her strength to the Dedicated.

Toward the end of the class, Leane Sedai called a halt. "Well done, girls," she praised. "You are all progressing quite well. However, one has shown a greater knack for forming links. Bodewhin, please come forward." Bode had to consciously keep herself from strutting. It would do her no good to seem arrogant in front of an Aes Sedai, or her classmates. Her da had always said honey attracts more flies than vinegar.

"Bodewhin," Leane Sedai instructed, "you will attempt to link with the Dedicated, Arason." It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did she wished they hadn't. The Dedicated approached and took his place before her, a smile on his face that might have been sweet on anyone else. "I am ready to begin," was all he said.

Bode took a moment to examine him in detail. The Dedicated, Arason, was not hard to look at, she supposed, with shaggy chestnut hair and a fair complexion. He was about an inch taller than her and seemed to move with an easy grace, like a wildcat on the prowl. His eyes were quite striking, like a clear sky at noon. She still got the feeling she should know him.

"Do you even know how to prepare?" Bode asked aggressively. Arason lifted a sardonic eyebrow and his smile widened a bit.

"If I recall correctly, you must bring yourself to the very edge of holding the Source and wait for the one who forms the circle to initiate the link. And since men cannot actually _form_ a circle, it means I'm waiting on you." He held up his hand for her to take.

At least he had been paying attention. Bode took his hand and squeezed as hard as she could, hoping to unnerve him. His smile didn't even falter; if anything, it grew in response, as if he knew what she was doing. Bode brought herself to the edge of the source and formed the beginnings of a link between them.

"Remember, a man must control a two-person link," Leane Sedai instructed. "You must pass control to him, Bodewhin." Bode ground her teeth at the thought of a man controlling her use of the Power, but she did as she was told and tried to pass control over to … Arason. She almost gasped as he almost snatched the lead from her, dragging her in like a colt into a pen. She resisted the urge to fight, to give in to her fear. She could _feel_ it through the link! She could feel _saidin_.

The male half of the True Source was utterly different from anything she had expected. _Saidar_ was a peaceful flow, _saidin_ was a raging torrent of fire and ice braided into one. Bode audibly groaned at the sheer contradiction of both at once, but she quickly got the hang of it. She actually laughed in success, likening it to handling a rowdy horse. Then she felt more than _it_. She felt _him_. She felt what Arason was feeling: his curiosity, his contentment … his desire to have her understand. That last one gave her pause.

Upon taking control, the Dedicated seemed eager, but his smile faltered. His eye twitched and he rubbed his forehead as if staving off a headache. Apparently, and she could feel that she was right, he found _saidar_ as alien as she found _saidin_. However, not a moment later, he grinned widely in joy.

"Incredible," he whispered. Bode felt him draw more through her. She felt him form a weave from both sides of the True source, could almost _see_ it come together, creating an a shifting orb of blue flames. "So this is the fire inside the mountain," he whispered. He formed another weave, creating a column, a swirling storm cloud, of bizarre, heatless white flames that changed colors like a kaleidoscope. The column grew even bigger, drawing more from her. Bode began to sweat from the strain.

"Dedicated, that's enough!" Leane ordered briskly. And like a snapping rope, the link was broken. Bode collapsed against one of the desks, panting as if she had run from the White Tower to Dragonmount and back. Upon closer inspection, the Dedicated was no better. He was still rubbing his eyebrow as he panted.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, before turning to Leane Sedai. "I apologize for my lapse in restraint, Leane Sedai. It won't happen again. If you will it, I surrender myself for disciplinary action." Arason knelt to one knee as if awaiting punishment right then and there.

Leane Sedai's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Stand, Dedicated." Her voice was firm, but fair. "Many students react in such a way upon first forming a circle. It is understandable, but don't let it happen again. Or else measures _will_ be taken." With that she waved her hand, dismissing the class.

Bode had a free session after the class, so she headed for the library. Accepted asked what her link with the Dedicated had felt like, but she didn't want to talk about it. A hand on her shoulder brought her nerves to a head. Acting instinctively, she embraced the Source and formed a weave of Air, launching it over her shoulder. She turned to find the Dedicated pinned to the wall. But he showed no fear, only earnest patience.

"I really am sorry for losing my grip back there, Bodewhin," he said. Bode narrowed her eyes at the use of her name. Why was it that he looked so … ? Then it clicked. The gardener. He hadn't been wearing his coat then, but it was definitely him. He seemed to sense her conclusion and smiled wanly. "Two for you and two for me. I guess we're even."

Bode couldn't help but crack a smile at his enthusiasm. She let him down and turned to go. But rather than leave, he fell into step beside her. "Library?" he asked. Bode started at his question.

"How did you know?" she asked. The Dedicated shrugged in response.

"Intuition? I'm pretty good at guessing." He followed her to the library, head constantly turning as if trying to see everything at once. Bode could understand that. She had been the same way when she first entered the White Tower, even as battle-scarred as it had been.

As they entered the library, one of the Dedicated was sitting in a chair facing the entrance, a book in hand. He was a Saldaean in his middle years; his expression was calm, like an old soul in a slightly younger body. Arason" the man said respectfully in a soft voice, "we have been told to report to the training fields to have a Warder examine our skills." With that, he stood, closed the book and left without another word.

The Dedicated ( _Arason_ Bode reminded herself) looked a little crestfallen. "Apologies, miss,, but I have been given orders." He placed his fist to his heart and gave a small bow from the waist, then turned and walked away. Bode, feeling strangely low-spirited, turned to sit. Then an idea struck her. Before she knew what she was doing, she had caught up with Arason. The Dedicated looked at her with surprise.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Bode moved ahead of him and looked back, feigning surprise. "I'm going to the training grounds. Do you have something to do there?" She turned her head back and smirked, leading the way.

* * *

As they approached the White Tower's training grounds, Rif's eyes widened at the sight. Warders and their prospects fought in controlled, yet at the same time merciless duels, the teachers pushing their students just as far as they could go and no further. The sight was so like the Black Tower that it almost made him homesick.

In the corner of the expanse of trampled grass stood his fellow Dedicated, whose names he had finally remembered. The Saldaean was Tehran Gregor and the Cairhienin was Karl Zavier. Both were demonstrating their skills for one of the Warders. Bother were skilled (you weren't raised to Dedicated without necessary skill with swords), but Zavier had the edge in experience. He was a noble, if a minor one, and had trained with the sword since childhood. The bout ended with Gregor on the ground, a sword to his neck.

Zavier looked up at Rif with an arrogant smirk. "Come to join the party, Arason?" he asked. Rif kept his cool in check, if with difficulty. He wasn't violent by nature, at least as nonviolent as a hunter could be, but people who thought they were better than others because of a title they were born into could get under his skin. But rif had learned long ago a method to irritate them back when they tried to mess with him. He smiled his natural, good-natured smile.

"Yep, sorry about that, Zavier," he replied. "Care to help me catch up?" he continued, drawing his own sword. Zavier gave that irritating arrogant grin again and readied his weapon. Rif narrowed his eyes, then they widened again as he remembered his manners. He held out his hand to the instructor.

"Rif Arason, sir," he offered. The instructor, grey-haired and even grimmer than the other Warders he had seen, shook the hand and nodded then stood back to watch the match with his practiced eyes. Rif smiled, remembering Henry hasslin, the drunken swordmaster of the Black Tower. He shook the thought away and stood before Zavier, his sword ready.

Zavier swung forward in Parting the Silk, a common opening form to which Rif countered with The Swallow Takes Flight. Zavier seemed surprised for a moment that Rif, little more than a child from a tiny village in the mountains, had countered so smoothly. Really, he should have known better. Without missing a beat, Rif flowed through Boar Rushes Down the Mountain, Zavier countered with Tower of Morning.

And so the match continued, neither side giving ground. Rif grinned in deliberate impudence. Zavier had been trained since childhood in swordsmanship but Rif had learned many skills from the same age, skills that made him strong, fast, and nimble; the sword had come easily compared to a Huntsman's knife training.

Finally, rif saw an opening for his little scheme. He caught Zavier's blade and grazed it to the side, swinging his elbow around and smashing Zavier in the face. As the noble (or rather, _ex_ -noble according to the Tower) dropped his sword and clutched his nose, Rif stepped, forcefully, on his foot, then grabbed his shoulder and butted him in the head. Zavier collapsed under the assault.

Zavier groaned in pain, then spat out blood and glared at Rif with a look that could have boiled a river. "You cheated," he spat through gritted teeth.

Rif grinned back, all innocence. "Maybe according to you, but I also won. No one who targets an Asha'man knowing who we are will fight by your rules, Zavier. In a fight to the death, one must do all in their power to win. To survive." With that, he sheathed his sword and strode away, nodding to the instructor and Gregor in a silent bid for dismissal. The Warder nodded in turn, apparently impressed by his little speech.

* * *

Bode was impressed by Rif's explanation. His reasoning was no different from that of any shepherd of the Two Rivers when they fought off wolves and bears that threatened the flocks. But it seemed that Zavier didn't agree.

The Cairhienin rose and, with a bloody shout, swung towards Rif's back. Acting on instinct, Bode embraced the Source and wove flows of Air and Spirit, freezing Zavier in his tracks and shielding him from the Source. Arason had only time to turn in surprise, the sword's edge mere inches from his neck. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, his only sign of fear.

Zavier snarled at Bode. "Release me, you bloody little girl!" he shouted, drawing the attention of nearby trainers.

Bode grimaced at the noble in disgust. "You would strike a man who just beat you while his back was turned?" she asked. "You're a disgrace."She forced him down to his backside and tied off the shield. It would hold for a few hours, at least.

Both she and Arason started in the direction of the Tower, mirror images of calm. As soon as they were out of sight, Arason leaned against a wall with a heavy sigh. "Arion's Bow, that was close," he panted, referencing an Andoran folk hero.

Bode chuckled at his words, then noticed a scratch on Arason's face, probably unnoticed in the rush of the duel. Bode took his head in her hands and wove the Five Powers in Nynaeve's Healing weave. Before the Schism, it would have been forbidden for an Accepted to Heal someone without an Aes Sedai's permission. But the Last Battle and Pevara Sedai's time as Amyrlin had changed much. Nynaeve had publicly announced to the Hall what the dragon had said of Aes Sedai during the Age of Legends: _To be Aes Sedai is to be what you decide it is_.

Arason gasped, no doubt feeling the chill that came with Healing. Bode was fairly good at Healing, enough to have briefly considered the Yellow Ajah for when she gained the shawl.

"Thank you," Arason said.

Bode waved away his thanks. "Haling is simple," she answered and tried to move on.

Arason stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Not that, or at least, not just that." he looked into her eyes, his gaze full of gratitude. 'Thank you for saving me."

Bode felt herself blush at the intensity of his gaze. "Well, I did call you a gardener and treat you pretty harshly. I guess now we really are even." Arason smiled at her words.

"Come on, Arason, let's get some lunch," Bode said. Arason laughed in return.

"Please, miss Bodewhin, call me 'Rif'." Bode lifted her eyebrows at the nickname. She had heard members of the Black Tower only called each other by their last names.

"Only if you agree to call me 'Bode'," she replied. Arason - Rif - grinned at the response and held out his hand. "Deal." They shook on it, cementing an unspoken friendship.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, sorry about no notes of late. I've been hard at work with finals and other college stuff. Good news, though; summer will open up my schedule (hopefully). Also, if any of you have questions, constructive complaints, or places/people/concepts in the WoT world you would like me to explore, feel free to comment or PM me. Reviews are quite appreciated.**

 **Bear in mind that page breaks represent a change in perspective, and this can happen multiple times in a single chapter.**

Chapter Four

"I still can't believe they would let those … _men_ into the White Tower," Irella spat for the third time that morning. "Especially to train here!" Irella had been an Accepted for four years, and a novice for five before that. And she had made no effort in all that time to hide her preferred Ajah. Needless to say, Bode was getting tired of her ceaseless and pointless ranting. The Accepted around her group listened keenly to every word, waiting for gossip to spread in the Accepted's quarters.

"Care to take that up with an Aes Sedai?" Bode asked when Irella had paused for breath, her face the picture of Aes Sedai serenity. Irella paled at the suggestion, then glowered at Bodewhin. She had long been jealous of Bode and those like her, those who had been raised to Accepted just after the Tower's Mending, after less than two years as novices.

"I don't expect you to understand, Bodewhin," she replied calmly, with venom lacing every word. "You have been in the White Tower less than a year. You have not learned the horrors that men who could channel have wrought. The Breaking of the World and the Dragon Wars are only the most prominent."

Bode raised an eyebrow at the statement. "And Pevara Sedai? She and many others who have bonded men who could channel, knowing even more than you do, oh _great_ Irella?"

Irella's mouth twisted with fury. She began to shout back but the sound died in her throat, replaced with utter shock. Gasps circled the table a heartbeat later. Bode looked to her left, following the woman's line of sight, and saw what they were all gaping at. Rif stood beside her一coat straightened, sword pin polished, breakfast tray in hand and an adorably awkward smile on his face.

"Umm ... may I join you?" he asked. Bode smiled warmly at him and moved down the bench to make room. Rif relaxed a bit at the silent invitation and sat, taking a bite from his roll without comment. Uncomfortable silence hung over the table, and several others besides.

Bode cleared her throat, trying to think of something to say, something to break the awkward tension. "I hope you didn't hear any of that," she said with a sigh.

"What, this one's"一he gestured at Irella一"ranting on the evils of men channeling? No, not at all," he said quickly. A couple of Accepted giggled at his words. Irella, on the other hand, looked positively outraged.

"How dare you sit here, boy?" she growled, the light of _saidar_ blooming around her. Rif simply looked back in wide-eyed innocence.

"Well, I was invited here to the White Tower to, and I quote, 'promote cooperation between our two branches.' Perhaps it's the cleansed taint driving me mad, but I am rather certain that sitting among those who live here instead of alone counts as an effort." Rif grinned at the speechless Irella. "Of course, if I'm mistaken, you could always take it up with the Mistress of Novices. Or the Amyrlin Seat." Rif continued with his porridge as Irella sputtered a response before glowering and stalking away.

Bode had to use every ounce of willpower she had to keep from bursting out laughing. The look on Irella's face had been priceless. She took hold of herself, not without some difficulty, and gestured to Rif for her friends. "Jancy, Susa, Marce, Elle, meet Rif Arason." Rif gave a small wave in greeting, which was met with a moment of silence. Then came the torrent of questions.

"Where are you from?" "What did you do before?" "What is the Black Tower like?" "How did you get there?" Rif seemed stunned by the flurry of interrogation, his eyes wide as they could be. Bode chuckled at little and gave her hands a sharp clap, getting everyone's attention.

"Just because he can channel doesn't mean he can answer ten questions at once," she said. "One at a time."

Susa al'Seen started with her question. "Where are you from?" she asked, more calmly than before. Rif smiled at the question.

"I'm from Comfrey. It's a small mining village settled high in the Mountains of Mist."

Elle came next. "What did you do before the Black Tower?" she asked, an unusual sullenness about her eyes. Bode resolved to ask her what was wrong later.

"I was actually an apprentice Huntsman," Rif replied, light as always. Marce, ever the scholar (Bode would bet money that she would choose the Brown Ajah upon gaining the shawl) asked what a Huntsman was.

"They're a group of master hunters, experts in all forms, sanctioned by the Crown of Andor to police villages high in the mountains. Mostly for poachers and smugglers." Rif's smile flickered for a moment. "My father was a Huntsman. He died protecting a downed comrade from a bandit's arrow ..." he paused for a moment, "and the Huntsmen kind of adopted me as their distant nephew. Helped my mother raise me."

This revelation was met with silence at Rif's solemn expression, so strange-looking for the cheery man. Bode felt the urge to place a hand on Rif's shoulder, but thought better of it. She was still an Accepted after all. Marce waited a full minute, an eternity coming from her, before asking her original question. "What is the Black Tower like?"

Rif visibly brightened at the change of topic. "I've been told it was originally an abandoned farm, but that was before my time. The actual Tower itself is under construction. Surrounding that sight is two sizable towns," he used his hands to illustrate, "with all the necessary trades. Many of the men who came brought their families. There's always men channeling; training, clearing land, digging ditches, all sorts of things. And no one's afraid of us. Hey accept who we are." Rif was practically glowing by now and had the girls captivated. "It became like a second home," he finished warmly.

There was another pause, this one in awe and perhaps a touch of apprehension. Then Jancy, the youngest of the Two Rivers girls, gave her question. "How did you get there?"

Rif smiled wryly. "Mazrim Taim was quite … aggressive in his recruiting goals. He had groups everywhere looking for candidates. It was only a matter of time before his teams came to remote areas such as Comfrey. A group led by the Asha'man Naeff arrived and proclaimed for a life of adventure serving the Dragon Reborn. My uncles were in Mother's inn and had sent me to pick up some horseshoes from a blacksmith. I got curious listening to them.

"I was one of the first to approach, so the wait was only an hour or so. Naeff said I had the spark, that I would channel no matter what. To be honest, it kind of scared me at first. But it also excited me." Rif's expression darkened for a moment, then brightened back. "My uncles told me I would always have a place among them if I came back. So I left with the recruiters and a couple others they had picked up and besides the Last Battle I've been there ever since."

Bode cleared her throat for attention. "I think we all have classes, ladies. Rif, if you'll come with me?" She stood and led the way, Rif catching up. Bode glanced at hi and became worried at the sadness in his eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Rif took a deep breath before answering. "This may sound silly, but I feel like I can tell you anything," he replied.

"That's not an answer," Bode said with a rueful grin.

"Says the woman training to be Aes Sedai," rif countered. Bode thought it over and nodded her head, conceding the point. She waited for him to answer honestly. Rif seemed an honest man at heart; it was only a matter of time. And apparently he felt the pressure.

"I wasn't totally honest with the story of how I joined the Black Tower," he admitted. Bode's eyes widened fractionally; she wouldn't have seen that coming, but it did make sense. _A man's past is his own_ , her father would always say.

"I told the truth about my uncles," he explained, "but … my mother wasn't nearly so accepting. I suppose she was afraid of the taint, of the madness. She forbade me, loudly, from going to the Tower. But I snuck out with my hunting satchel full of clothes and my equipment. Kirr, my father's best friend, caught me. But he let me go and gave me these," Rif lifted his coat to reveal two long hunting knives at his belt. "He said he'd had them made for when I became a man." Rif's voice caught and he brushed his eyes.

Bode felt the urge to comfort him again; this time she listened, placing her hand in his. Rif looked down at her and smiled in thanks. They arrived at the class in companionable silence, their hands still linked.

* * *

"You're making that up," Rif accused, grinning widely. Bode shook her head stubbornly, a similar smile on her face.

"Not I'm not! It really happened!" she insisted. After their Accepted class, which Rif had attended, Bde had been set teaching novices, while Rif had been ordered to the training grounds. Novices were kept as far from men as possible. They had met up again through sheer chance in the library. Well, chance for Bode. Rif had been _hoping_ to meet her there. Bode had checked out her book and accompanied him.

"The Dragon himself tied you in weaves of Air, surrounded by two Aes Sedai and a dozen novices, just to make a point?" he asked.

Bode nodded. "It scared me half to death, and everyone else besides. Verin Sedai had to send us to our rooms to calm down. I think she put something in our tea."

Rif had difficulty containing his laughter. He had never actually seen the dragon Reborn Rand al'Thor, only hearing about him from the Asha'man and Dedicated who had been at the Black tower during his infrequent visits, back when it was still called "the Farm". But he had read the Lord dragon's speech about the purpose of an Asha'man and respected those beliefs. A statue of him, as well as a memorial of all the Asha'man who had been killed or Turned during the Last Battle, had been erected in front of the site of the Black Tower's construction.

Rif's reply was cut off by a familiar voice. "Busy as a bee, aren't we Arason?"

* * *

Androl Genhald, second-in-command of the Black Tower, strode through the halls of its White counterpart. The thought crossed his mind that he had become something of a fixture, the irony of the statement not escaping him. But Pevara, his beloved wife, was the Amyrlin seat. And that meant that Androl's time in Tar Valon would far exceed Pevara's time in the Black Tower.

As he moved to exit the Tower itself, making for the Traveling grounds (courtesy never hurt), Androl caught the sound of a friendly and familiar voice. He turned to see Riften Arason walking and talking with a young Accepted, quite engaged in the conversation. Androl smiled and called out, "Busy as a bee, aren't we, Arason?"

Riften froze and his head darted around. Androl was already striding toward him, his sense of theatrics coming through. It was true; the Black Tower taught dramatic entrances as much as channeling. Riften's grin turned into a solemn expression, one that looked odd on the boy's face, and clapped his fist to his chest in the Asha'man salute. Then his grin sprung back full-force and he shook Androl's hand.

"What are you doing here, Androl?" Riften asked. Androl leveled a look at the Dedicated that seemed to say, _Is it really that hard to figure out?_ "I'm visiting my wife," he answered verbally. Riften took the look in stride.

"Are you going to introduce me?" Androl said, indicating the Accepted. A look of embarrassment flashed across Riften's face and disappeared just as quickly. He gestured from the young woman to Androl.

"Bodewhin Cauthon, this is Androl Genhald, First of the Telamons and Master of Gateways. Androl, this is Bodewhin Cauthon."

Androl bowed to the young lady, who curtseyed in return, and took a moment to study her. She was quite pretty, with dark hair and eyes. She had an air of cleverness about her and a spark of mischief in her eyes. _Pevara should be pleased with this one_ , Androl thought.

"Asha'man Androl, if I may ask you something?" Bodewin said. Androl nodded for her to continue. "Why do they call you 'Master of Gateways'?" Androl looked toward Riften, whose face was deliberately blank, and smiled inwardly.

"Why don't I show you?" he asked, and led the way toward the training grounds.

Androl led them to a field apart from the others, Warder instructors nodding in respect as they passed. Even six months after the Last Battle, Androl didn't quite understand why people seemed to instinctively defer to him. But the Last Battle had taught him that that respect was theirs to give; who was he to question that? Upon their arrival, Androl turned to face Riften.

"Riften, you know the procedure," he said. Riften spoke a few quiet words to the girl, who moved some distance away. The young man unsheathed his sword and took on a look of peaceful indifference. Androl felt the sense of awe and menace that signaled a man had seized the Source; he summoned the Void, gathering what little of the sweet, fiery Power he could handle.

The Dedicated faced him with equanimity, sword steady. Androl could tell the sword was not the boy's preferred weapon, that would be his hunting knives that he had trained in since childhood, but he was still quite talented. Androl spotted threads of Water weaving around riften, heading for a nearby canal. The fuel had begun.

* * *

Bode watched intently as each manㅡthe square, experienced Androl versus the lean, youthful Riftenㅡdrew his sword and took on a ready stance. Androl held his sword in two hands, the blade pointing forward and leaning up at an angle. Rif had his in one hand, the handle level with the side of his head and the blade resting on his outstretched arm. Neither moved; waiting, waiting.

And like an explosion, a torrent of water burst from a nearby canal, a swirling fount of that plunged up and down at Androl. And in a flash, a gateway just as large as the stream opened, shielding the Asha'man. The other end had opened some feet to Rif's left, his own attack blasting him off his feet.

Rif rolled once and landed on his feet just as a small fireball hurtled toward him. Rif twitched his fingers and the flames disappeared, likely quenched by a threads of Air or Water. Rif twitched his sword up and charged for Androl, who readied his weapon. Rif made it three paces before he sunk into the ground. Bode looked up at a shout of surprise. Rif was falling from two hundred feet above them. Androl must have formed another gateway.

Bode felt the air of the training field form a funnel that cushioned Rif's landing. He made it to his feet and, as if sensing the oncoming attack, lifted his sword to meet and block Androl's. Androl's third gateway in less than a minute, formed to jump close to Rif, closed as both men swung their swords in complicated forms. After a minute, both disengaged, breathing heavily.

Rif looked up and leapt to his right, evading an avalanche of snow falling from a gateway overhead. Rif retaliated with a burst of wind that knocked Androl back and into another gateway that snapped into place. Rif spun around to meet an attack from behind, only to see the foggy back of a gateway. Androl's blade settled at Rif's throat from the side.

Rif stood stock-still for a heartbeat, then his sword clattered to the ground in defeat. The entire duel had lasted a few minutes at most. Bode rushed to Rif and placed her hand on his head, Delving him for injuries. He was fine, just tired. Bode offered the same to Asha'man Androl, who waved off her concern.

"Save your strength, young lady. I'm not old yet," he said nonchalantly. Rif chuckled at Androl's jest and bode cracked a smile.

"That was amazing, Asha'man androl," she complimented, meaning every word. She had seen gateways before, but she had never seen them open and close so fast, or with such variation. Androl shrugged at her compliment.

"It's my talent," he explained. "In raw strength, I'm likely the weakest man in the whole of the Black Tower. But this little gift impressed Logain enough to let me reach Dedicated."

"It is more than strength," Rif aid, sheathing his sword, "that makes a man great." Rif faced Bode. "Raw strength is _all_ he lacks. This man, linked with twenty-seven channelers, destroyed an army of tens of thousands of Shadowspawn." Bode had heard of the event, which the Andoran army had dubbed "Androl's Miracle." She had not really believed it, but the proof was standing right in front of her. "The only other man who could make that boast," Rif continued, "was the Lord Dragon himself."

Androl waved off Rif's words. "That's enough, Rif," he said, both stern and kind. The asha'man looked p and studied the sky, judging the time. "I had better return to Shara'man. Logain has called a meeting of the Telamons for tonight."

"Shara'man?" Rif asked, echoing the thought in Bode's head. Androl smiled at the question.

"Did I mention Logain came up with a name for the Farm? Shara'man. It's the Old Tongueㅡmeans 'bloodline of the Dragon'. Fitting for the town that supports the Tower the Dragon founded." Androl held out a hand, which Rif shook. He bowed gracefully to bode, who curtsied as she would to an Aes Sedai. A gateway A gateway snapped into place, just wide enough for Androl to pass through, and closed just as he went through.

Rif was smiling as he followed Bode back into the Tower. "He's a friend, I presume?" she asked. Rif turned his smile to her.

"Friend and mentor," he answered. "When Logain went missing before the Last Battle, kidnapped by Taim, Androl was the next man we looked to. He may not be 'strong', but he's rich in life experience and the wisdom it brings. Androl spearheaded the effort that revealed Logain's capture, and the rescue that followed." Rif's smiled faded just a little.

"Before all that, he was mocked for his low strength. His only real skill was with gateways, and that earned him a nickname among Taim's faction: pageboy." Rif lapsed into silence for a moment. "It's still protocol, but especially during those formative months, when an initiate arrives at the Black Tower, they're put through preliminary training to get them channeling as fast as possible. When they figure it out, the _real_ training begins. Among this is determining the subject's affinity.

"My affinity is for Air and Water, the Powers associated with women. While I have no problem with that," his voice wasn't panicked, simply stating the facts, "others found it … contemptible. They mocked and jeered, even called me 'girly', sometimes. Androl helped me through the worst of it. He picked up a lowly soldier and listened to his woes." Rif looked up at bode with admiration in his eyes. "And an Accepted befriended him in a Tower where he was unwelcome."

Bode looked away quickly, those pure, guileless eyes making her feel guilty at how she had thought of him at first. "You were welcomed, Rif," she tried to brush off. "The Amyrlin herself invited you and your companions."

"Perhaps," he said. "But everyone else looks at us with fear and scorn." Rif placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her and turned her around.

"Thank you for letting me be your friend," he said.

Bode hesitated, then surrendered to the warmth in her heart and smiled warmly, placing her hand on his. "It has been my pleasure, Mr. Arason," she said, with utterly and complete honesty. And with that, they returned to the White Tower, identical smiles on their faces.


	6. Chapter 5

**Sorry about the wait, guys. My internet was on the fritz, among other things. I'll probably post an extra chapter this week, for your patience. Anyway, on with the show!**

 **Chapter Five**

Over the next several weeks, Rif and Bode quickly became close, as if they had known each other since childhood. Rif attended classes with Bode and what few Accepted classes she taught, learning what he could about the Aes Sedai and the female half of the True Source. When Rif was assigned to train with the Warders, Bode would attend the sparring grounds between matches to patch him up.

And when the two had time, they would read in the library together or walk the grounds of the White Tower or the streets of Tar Valon (escorted by an Aes Sedai, of course), simply talking and enjoying each other's presence. And on occasion, they would practice linking again, growing closer with each experience.

Rif told Bode about his hometown of Comfrey. He spoke of his mother Tora, the owner of the Windy Willows Inn, and his "uncles", the Huntsmen. He told stories of learning the skills of a Huntsman as a child and the trouble he would get into in the mountains, and stories of his time at the Black Tower. A few times, he even spoke of his experiences in the Last Battle, such as Androl's miracle or saving the Caemlyn refugees.

Bode, in turn, told of her childhood in Emond's Field of the Two Rivers. She told stories of all the troubles her older brother Mat had gotten into, how he had often been caught only she and her sisters tattled. She taught Rif how to spot good horseflesh, as her father had taught her, and demonstrated her skill with cuendillar. She even told him about her capture by Whitecloaks and her rescue by Lord Perrin, and the Battle of Emond's Field against the Trolloc invasion.

Three days after that story, as if summoned by it, a delegation of Whitecloaks and Andoran soldiers, led by the Lord Captain Commander and Queen of Andor themselves, arrived in Tar Valon. Since the victory of Tarmon Gai'don, in addition to the Dragon's Peace, Galadedrid Damodred had slowly begun to turn away from the fanaticism of his predecessors and had tried to foster an understanding between the Children of the Light and the White and Black Towers.

Naturally, the Whitecloaks had been met with suspicion upon their approach to Tar Valon, but the presence of Queen Elayne, herself an Aes Sedai, had leant credibility to Damodred's claims. The Lord Captain Commander and his two closest Lord Captains had even been offered rooms in the White Tower itself, but had preferred to stay in the city. One step at a time, and all.

Two days after their arrival, Damodred approached the Tower's training grounds, looking to have his men test themselves against those who had trained _him_ , the best of the best: Warders. Upon his arrival, Damodred seemed surprised to see an Asha'man among the Warder's ranks.

Rif had seen the Lord Captain Commander before and had grown somewhat used to the man's near-supernatural good looks. Bode, on the other hand, seemed utterly stunned by the man. Rif took hold of her wrist protectively, drawing her attention and … a bemused smile? Rif had spent his life around men and in his time at the White Tower had learned much, not the least of which was that he didn't know a bloody thing about women.

Damodred nodded at Rif in acknowledgement. "Well, it would seem that the Al'Vere Pact is well in effect," he said calmly, observing rif's stance with a practiced eye. Rif pushed up his collar, emphasizing the sword pin.

"I'm not an Asha'man, sir. Just a simple Dedicated," he said. Lord Galad gave a slight smile at that. Apparently, he respected humility. Slowly, the Whitecloak leader unsheathed his sword and bowed, and old custom of offering a friendly duel. Rif grinned and bared his own blade with a bow, accepting the challenge.

Both men faced each other, swords out and prepared. Pif tensed at a sudden sense of menace in the air, the feeling of _saidin_ being held, and darted his gaze around looking for one of his fellow envoys or a messenger from the Black Tower. No one with a black coat was in sight, save himself. The feeling of menace passed and Damodred asked, concern in his tone, "Are you well, Dedicated? You seem distracted."

Rif whipped his head around to see Lord galad right where he had last been, his sword down. Rif smiled with a sense of respect. Galad Damodred's sense of honor was legendary, and the fact that he hadn't struck while his opponent was distracted gave credence to the rumors.

"I'm fine, lord Damodred. I just … I thought I felt channeling nearby. Apologies; let us continue."

Damodred's eyes rose in confusion and perhaps a little worry, but he resumed his stance. Just as he settled, the feeling of menace returned, even stronger than before. Rif's eyes widened as an impossible thought struck his mind. He shook his head, brushing the thought away, and summoned the Void. The Source beckoned at the edge of his vision, but he ignored it. Ri held his blade steady, ready to meet this challenge; he could deal with his suspicions later.

Rif charged with Parting the Silk. Damodred countered with Lizard in the Thornbush. And so the duel went, with both swordsmen progressing to more and more complicated forms. Within the first few forms, Rif knew he was outmatched. The lord Captain Commander may have been missing an arm, but he was merely testing out Rif's skills, at best. Rif hardened his resolve. He may have no chance of winning, but he was determined to show his worth.

Finally, Rif performed the Dove Takes Flight, to which Damodred countered with Kingfisher Circles the Pond, disarming Rif of his sword. A heartbeat later, and the feeling of menace, of _saidin_ being channeled, faded away, having been there the entirety of the duel.

Lord Damodred nodded to Rif in respect with a smile. "You are inexperienced, perhaps, but still quite skilled, young Dedicated. Tell me, what do I call you?"

Rif blinked and cleared his throat. "Riften, Lord Damodred. But I prefer Rif."

Lord Damodred nodded. "And you may call me Galad, if you wish." Lord Damodred—Galad—turned to leave, motioning to his guards, before Rif took hold of his arm.

"Lord Galad, if I may?" Galad raised an eyebrow in curiosity. His guards gripped their swords, but galad waved off their concerns. He turned to face Rif.

"You strike me as an honorable man, Riften. How may I help you?" He sounded a touch bemused. Did the Lord Captain Commander really trust Rif that much after a single duel. Then again, Rif had heard several of the Asha'man and Dedicated who had been warriors in their previous lives claim that sword masters could judge a man's life after a single exchange of blows. Rif decided to push his luck.

"Lord Galad, I swear on my hope of resurrection and rebirth that what I do next, I do to help you. Not to hurt you or anyone else," Rif said, more serious than he could ever remember being when not hunting. Galad's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the oath, but he nodded to continue.

Rif seized the Source and wove a small thread of Fire, conjuring something like a small candle flame in the palm of his hand. "This," Rif explained, gesturing at the flame, "is a practice we use at the Black Tower. Lord Galad, please concentrate on the flame." Galad's eyebrow rose at the unusual request, but he looked down and narrowed his eyes in concentration. After a few seconds, the flame seemed to fixate him.

After about five minutes, Rif felt what he was looking for. A resonance, the Asha'man called it. A reaction to _saidin_ by one who could channel it. Galad's eyes widened as he felt it too.

"What was that?" he asked breathlessly.

"When you focus, get ready to duel," Rif asked, "does everything seem ... different. As in sharper, clearer, more vibrant?" Galad nodded slowly, still confused. Rif smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, taking a careful step back.

"Congratulations, Lord Captain Commander." rif clapped his fist to his chest in the Black Tower salute. "You can learn to channel."

Galad stumbled back in shock, denial surging up. "No. no, that's impossible! I …" Galad's eyes widened, as if another shock had come. He mumbled something, something that sounded like "brother", then turned and strode away, his guards following in shock.

Bode watched them go, then turned to Rif. 'What did you do?" she asked accusingly. Rif felt frustration rise in his chest. She had only first seen the man twenty minutes ago and she was taking his side? Rif considered that thought with an inner grimace. Of course she was; Lord Galad was a living work of art.

Rif combed his fingers through his chestnut hair. He needed to trim it soon. "During our duel I sensed _saidin_. At first, I thought one of the other Dedicated were training, but neither were out here. The feeling only passed when the match was over." Rif took a deep breath. "I tested Lord Galad for potential, and … well, he passed."

Bode gasped at the news. That was not uncalled for. Everyone knew the Children of the Light had despised the One Power and all who used it for centuries. It would be difficult for them to realize that one of their own had the potential to learn, especially if it was the leader himself.

Rif rubbed his forehead, the beginnings of a headache settling in. He had made something of a friend among the Children of the Light, one of the most powerful military factions in the Westlands, and had alienated him within the same hour. This was not going to end well.

* * *

Bode took Rif's arm and guided him toward the Tower. She had learned a lot about the man during his time here. She knew he was curious by nature. But she also knew that he would never hurt someone just to hurt them. It just wasn't _him_.

Bode stopped in an alcove just off the entrance hall, thankfully empty, and turned Rif to face her. He had a haunted look in his eye, as if he regretted ever testing Lord Galad. Bode felt a hand wrap around her heart at the thought of Rif berating himself for innocent interest.

"Rif," Bode said, taking his head in her hands and looking him in the eye. She instilled the look with as much force as she could muster. "Riften Arason, you did nothing wrong. You were only trying to make sure Lord galad knew what he could do. You didn't do it to hurt him, I know that for certain. He was just stunned at the news. He'll get over it, you'll see." She eased her gaze, like she had seen her mother do when imparting a lesson to Mat. "In fact, I think he'll thank you when he sorts this out."

Bode smiled and, not thinking, placed a hand on Rif's cheek. He visibly relaxed and grasped her hand, seeming to savor the act. Bode's cheeks reddened as she realized what she had done. Such an intimate gesture, done so freely. So easily! In the Two Rivers, this was as close a couple could act in public without being scolded by the village Wisdom!

Rif seemed to notice her discomfort and lifted her hand from his cheek, which reddened in turn. He gave a small smile and a nod in gratitude. "Thanks, Bode," he said softly, and turned toward the Dedicated quarters. Bode let him go.

The Accepted turned and walked further into the Tower, her thoughts churning like a thunderstorm. So distracted, she didn't notice the two Cairhienin on opposite sides of the hall, watching her—one a beautiful Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, accompanied by a weathered gleeman; the other a black-coated noble, grinning with wicked delight.

Bode's pace quickened as she walked, headed in no particular direction. She didn't think of rif that way. She _couldn't_ think of Rif that way! She thought of him like … like mat, as a brother. No, that was a lie. She had never, from the time they had met, thought of him as a brother. So what did she see him as?

Eventually, Bode found herself in the garden with the willows, where she had first interacted with Rif. She folded her legs beneath her, sitting under the willow tree— _their_ willow tree, part of her said—and tried to sort out her thoughts.

* * *

A vertical slash of light appeared at the base of Dragonmount and turned to reveal the Tar Valon Dedicated barracks. A coatless, swordless Rif bolted through the gateway and continued running. The area around the massive volcano was flat and grassy, not like the wooded mountains he was used to, but it would have to do. Right now, he just needed to _run_.

Rif ran like a deer, swift and light-footed, his boots of soft leather barely touching the grass. His thoughts were whirling like a storm from the Mountains of Mist that destroyed farms and shattered towns, and this was always how he dealt with thoughts like that. He ran—he ran away from the problem until he was out of breath and his thoughts settled, then turned and ran toward it until he came to a solution.

Rif savored the chilled autumn wind as it flowed past him, the smell of grass in the air, the shining sun warming him as he ran. He ran and thought of what had happened. Why had Bode comforted him? _She's your friend_. Why a gesture so intimate? _She simply acted, she didn't think_. She didn't think about something like that?! _Maybe she cares for you as you do for her_.

Rif, stunned by that last thought, tripped over a tussock of grass and rolled to a halt. He panted heavily on his knees, his cotton shirt soaked in sweat. A brief image of Bode like this, panting and sweating before him, flashed through his mind. He squashed it before it could fully form.

Rif stood and moved at a more sedate pace. _What_ do _I feel for Bodewhin Cauthon_? Such a simple question, yet it made him feel more tangled than a rabbit caught in a snare. He appreciated her, that was certain. And he respected her. After a rough first few meetings, she had come to accept him, to look at _him_ and not just the black coat or the pin on his collar. He had always realized she was attractive—what red-blooded man couldn't notice?—and she was sweet and warm, but also had a playful streak. She tried to emulate Aes Sedai serenity, and did a good job, but she still always had that twinkle in her large, lovely, dark eyes. And that hair, like a dark shining waterfall.

Rif bolted again, reaching for the clarity that only running could give him. _It can't be true. It could. Well, it's not. Yes it its. She doesn't feel the same. She could. What would she see in me? What does she already see? Only she knows that. Then ask_. Rif skidded to a halt as he thought that through.

He was a hunter, an apprentice Huntsman, a Dedicated of the Black Tower; he was a man of action. All of this debate would only drive him mad. _I love her_ , he realized (or perhaps, _admitted_ ). At some point in the last few months, he had fallen. And fallen hard. A blush rose in from his neck to his hairline at the thought and his resolve hardened. He had to know if he had a chance. If he didn't, it would hurt. But he would be happy as her friend, her confidant, perhaps even her Warder. And if he did have a chance, it would be like that happiness channeled through a _sa'angreal_.

Rif clenched his fists and wrestled with the fear that rose in his belly. He had faced Trollocs and Fades in the Last Battle, and had shot down bears and mountain cats before that. Fear was natural, manageable. He would ask. When the time came. Rif opened a gateway t o his room in the White Tower and ran through, planning when (and how) to ask.

* * *

Bode wrestled with her thoughts over Rif. She couldn't love him, could she? Not like that! He was her best friend. She had realized _that_ a good ten minutes ago and it had shaken her world. The Aes Sedai would never allow a romance between her and Rif. _But what about when you gain the shawl?_ He couldn't love her. _Why not?_ What if he didn't? _He could always be your Warder_.

"Agonizing, isn't it?" Bode jumped at the sound of a woman's voice. An Aes Sedai of the Blue was standing in front of her with folded hands. Bode squeaked and jumped up to curtsey; one _always_ showed respect to an Aes Sedai! The Blue waved her curtsey away.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked. Bode shook her head and moved to share the willow's shade. The Aes Sedai sat with the grace of a queen and sighed in contentment, eyes closed in a picture of serenity. Bode watched from the corner of her eye, trying to put a name to a face.

"Moiraine," she offered, as if sensing Bode's gaze. Bode started as she realized the full import of the name. Moiraine Damodred Sedai, slayer of _two_ Forsaken, escaped prisoner of the Finn—rescued by her own brother—one of the three to reseal the Dark One. The one who had taken Rand, Mat, Perrin, and Egwene from the Two Rivers in the first place.

"Feel free to speak your mind, young Bodewhin," Moiraine said, eyes still peacefully closed. "Your brother freed me from the Eelfinn—I am quite partial to your family." She regarded Bode with a soft smile. "Tell me what troubles you." She sounded as if she already knew.

Bode took a deep breath. "It's … um …" She tried to think over her words. "My friend … he's one of the Dedicated from the Black Tower, and I … I think I …" She couldn't say it. That would make it real. Irrefutably _real_.

"You love him," Moiraine finished. It wasn't a question, but a statement. A fact, not an opinion.

Bode nodded glumly. 'Is it that obvious?" she asked.

Moiraine chuckled kindly. "I myself have experience with love. It can be confusing, painful, mind-shattering. But it is also what makes life worth living. It is all that kept me sane during my time in the Tower of Ghenjei." Moiraine paused for a moment. "Does he know how you feel?" she asked, again sounding like she knew the answer.

Bode laughed at the question. " _I_ barely know how I feel," she answered honestly. Rif was a man, sweeter and kinder than most, but still as wool-headed as any of them.

"Then make sure he knows," Moiraine said simply, rising to her feet. "If he returns your feelings, you'll know. And if he doesn't, which is quite unlikely, at least you will still know. And your friendship will grow because of it."

Bode thought over that last statement. She had seen men and women confess their feelings growing up in Emond's Field. When they were not mutual, it left a distance between the two, an awkwardness that wouldn't be shaken off. She wasn't sure she could take that with Rif. But Moiraine was an Aes Sedai, and they couldn't lie. They could be wrong, they could twist the truth, but they _couldn't_ lie.

Bode rose and curtsied with far more grace than before. "Thank you for your advice, Moiraine Sedai." Moiraine nodded in return and left the garden. Her Warder, the gleeman Thom Merrilin, followed her like a shadow.

Bode steeled herself and started for her room, her calm appearance masking the whirling questions underneath. When to ask? And how?


	7. Chapter 6

**Hey guys, here's that extra chapter I promised. It's shorter than usual, but what're you gonna do? And please do review, it eases my nerves knowing ya'll approve.**

 **Chapter Six**

At dawn, three days after his revelation under Dragonmount, Rif stood in the White Tower Traveling grounds, summoned by Lord Galad, accompanied by the half-legion of Whitecloaks. Galad stood like a statue; calm, cool, and collected. Rif felt like he would be sick at any moment and was grateful to the trick to ignore temperature. At least he knew his sweating was from nerves and not heat.

Galad offered his hand to the young Dedicated with a soft smile. After a moment's hesitation, Rif awkwardly smiled back and and shook it.

"Thank you, Rif, for telling me of my gift," Galad said. Two years ago, a revelation like this would have caused an uproar with anyone, especially a Whitecloak, and even after so much change, Rif had not expected a thank you.

"It was the right thing to do," Rif said honestly. Galad's smile seemed to widen ever so slightly at his answer.

"What do I do to learn about this skill?" the Commander asked. Rif placed a hand to his chin, considering his answer carefully. Galad had visited the Black Tower before and was at least acquainted with Logain and the Telamons. Rif noticed that the entirety of the Whitecloaks were ready to depart.

"I can open a gateway to the Black Tower. Have your men move through quickly, but cautiously; a lot of Asha'man haven't let go of old grievances. Ask for Logain and tell him what has happened here. Given your position, he'll probably assign an Asha'man to the Children of the Light. Officially, he'll probably act as an emissary, but he'll teach you what you need to know to handle yourself." Rif held his breath for Galad's response. The Lord Captain Commander nodded in approval.

Rif seized the Source and wove a gateway to a field outside the Black Tower's main gate, wide enough for two men to walk side-by-side. Galad motioned to his men, who began filing through with only occasional looks of worry or contempt. As the last of the men filed through, Galad followed silently. He turned and saluted to Rif as the gateway closed.

Rif let out a sigh of relief. The summons had originally made him nervous. Galad may have wanted to punish him for "lying" or even kill him. But then again, that wasn't Galad's way. He always did what was right. Rif felt a glow of happiness that the Children of the Light finally had a leader with a strong moral compass, for once.

Rif looked to the horizon, the sun a faint shine above the cityscape. It was barely morning and he felt exhausted. Rif started to turn toward the wing that held the Dedicated quarters before an idea struck him. Bode usually got up around this time. He turned instead for the Accepted wing.

* * *

Bode finished straightening her room, one of the few physical chores required of an Accepted, and took a look at herself in her room's faded mirror. She looked … average. She had classes involving weaves today, the first since she had realized she was in love with Rif, and was determined to sink herself into them. To forget her troubles for a few hours.

Bode left her room … and stopped in surprise. He was right there, as if summoned by her determination. Men were not banned from the Accepted's quarters, but it was still rare to see one here. Apparently Rif was unaware or simply didn't give it any mind. With that sweet smile and those eyes like the sky, he looked perfect. "Good morning," he greeted.

Bode flashed what she oped was a flirty grin. "Good morning, yourself," she replied. Rif scratched the back of his head, as if nervous. "You were right," he said.

Bode shrugged. "I usually am. You'll have to be more specific." Rif chuckled at her jest.

"Galad requested I come to the Traveling grounds today. He wants to learn to channel. He wasn't mad, either. Just … accepting." Rif smiled a little wider. "And a touch grateful," he added.

Bode smiled more genuinely this time and lifte a pointing finger to his face. "Told you so," she sing-songed, and pressed his nose softly. Rif's face reddened at her proximity, but his smile remained.

"Would you care to join me for a stroll in the city?" he asked. "Just to talk?"

Bode lifted an eyebrow at the request, and reluctantly shook her head. "Accepted are not allowed to leave the Tower grounds unescorted," she explained. Her grin returned. "Besides, I haven't eaten, yet." As if in response to her words, Rif's stomach rumbled. "And apparently, neither have you," she said. Rif shrugged with embarrassment.

Bode giggled and took his arm, leading them to the dining halls.

* * *

Karl Zavier, Dedicated of the Black Tower and heir-apparent of the noble Zavier family, tried with little success to rein in his rising temper. That little upstart Arason had made him look like a fool, like a _common_ fool! The day he had seen the little pest act so mushy with that Two Rivers chit, he had come straight to the Amyrlin to recount the sight. She had refused to see him, so the message had been given to her Keeper, who had yet to pass it on.

Zavier had returned every morning since. He was a noble of Cairhien; he would not be ignored! The Keeper, Tesan he thought, finally looked up at him with that icy White Ajah gaze. She stood, a sheaf of papers in one hand, and entered the Amyrlin's office without a word to him. A good ten minutes later, she opened the door. "The Amyrlin Seat will speak with you," she said, tone as cold as her gaze.

Zavier bit back a scathing retort and strode past her. They made him wait for days, then ushered him in like some sort of _servant_?! Zavier tried again to rein in his ire, with more success than before. He was a noble of Cairhien and had been raised to play the Game of Houses in his sleep since birth. He refused to let them get to him.

The Amyrlin Seat, Pevara Sedai, was finishing an important-looking letter as he entered. She ignored him as she finished the document with a signature, then sealed it and handed it to her Keeper with murmured instructions. Only then did she address him; another act of _Das Dae'mar_.

"I have been … informed that you have a complaint against one of your own," Pevara said, her cold tone somehow tinged with disapproval. Zavier drew breath to explain, but the Amyrlin held a hand up for silence; he had no choice but to comply. "Tell me only the facts of what you saw. Do not try to exaggerate. I will know if you do." She fixed him with one of those icy, steely glares he had only ever seen from her, and he believed without a doubt that she would know.

Zavier explained what he had seen: Arason had dueled the Lord Captain Commander Galadedrid, then tested him. He had been escorted back to the Tower by and Accepted, Bodewhin Cauthon, who had consoled him. Both had held each other quite warmly, amorously even. He suppressed a wicked grin as he finished, expecting Pevara Sedai to dole out a famous Aes Sedai punishment right then and there.

Pevara Sedai gave Zavier a level look, totally unaltered by the report. "A fascinating narrative," she said, voice heavy with sarcasm, "and not something for the Amyrlin Seat. If you wish to report on an Accepted, you should have gone to the Mistress of Novices. And as for the Dedicated, I suppose it would be her business as well, as long as you're here. Now," she stood from her seat, "if you don't mind, I have other business to attend to."

Pevara Sedai left the room with graceful elegance, leaving Zavier gaping.

* * *

Despite the lovely morning of breakfast with Rif, Bode's day had quickly gone sour. Her classes were evermore demanding, she had had no time to watch Rif spar (a pastime she had found herself enjoying), and she had been called to the chambers of Tiana Noselle, the Mistress of Novices.

Apparently, word had gotten around about the "moment" between her and Rif, and Tiana had been rather displeased by the situation. Accepted were supposed to remain aloof from men and focus on their studies, especially as they would outlive any friends they made that were not Aes Sedai.

Bode had given the argument that a friendship with Rif (which was all she would admit) was then ideal, as he would more than likely live as long as she. This had given Tiana pause, but she had still punished Bode for bending Tower custom with the task of scrubbing pots in the kitchens, a chore that lasted well past dark. And to make matters worse, she had overheard that Rif had been ordered to demolish the remains of Elaida's unfinished palace alone, a punishment that would cover a number of days.

In other words, Bode was worn out, her hands were blistered and aching, and she was quite frankly at the edge of her practiced cool facade.

Bode stumbled up to her room and, for the second time that day, was surprised by the appearance of Rif at her door; not only his presence, but the very state of him. Rif's coat, usually immaculate, was rumpled and covered with dust. His face was filthy, with tracks cut in the dust from sweat. His eyes were dull from exhaustion. And yet, through all that he still smiled for her.

Bode rubbed a strand of her hair between her thumb and forefinger. She probably looked little better than him. With that stray thought, the strain finally reached its peak, the very limit of what she could handle. Bode almost started weeping and it must have shown on her face. Rif rushed to her and enveloped her in a strong embrace, one she gladly returned. He rubbed her hair and whispered comforts to her, just like a small part of her remembered seeing lovers do in Emond's Field.

After a few moments, Bode calmed down, then scolded herself. She was an Accepted of the White Tower, not some lovesick village girl to be rescued! She pulled back, meaning to chastise Rif for thinking he had to comfort her, but one look into those beautiful, exhausted eyes made her bite her tongue.

Rif's expression saddened as she looked at him. "I'm sorry, Bode," was all he said. Bode paled, thinking he had somehow read her thoughts. "I wanted to give you a good day, but all I did was ruin it."

Bode took a moment to consider his words. "How?" she asked. Rif's expression twisted, as if he were in pain. "People saw us after I tested Galad. They took it as romance and acted accordingly. I put you in that position, and in this one," he said holding her red, raw hands in his own, "and I apologize." He let go and bowed his head. "Please forgive me," he whispered.

Bode felt a surge of protectiveness rise in her, mixed with a little anger. She wouldn't let him take all the blame on himself. "Rif, I'm the one who did that to you," she said, tapping int endurance she didn't realize she had. "It's just as much my fault as yours."

Rif looked back up in disbelief and smiled gratefully. He placed a hand on her cheek and his eyes … smoldered. He pulled her forward, ever so gently … and kissed her! Bode was shocked for a moment, then returned his efforts. For a few moments, they stood in bliss. Then Rif tensed and pulled back, his face ashen with fear.

"Oh Light! Bode, I'm sorry, I-I-I-I don't know why I did that, I-" Bode cut him off with another kiss, just as calming as the last. She pulled back and giggled at Rif's stunned expression. "Y-you're not … mad?" he asked hesitantly.

Bode scoffed at the notion. "I've wanted you to do that for a while now," she answered honestly. "Or better yet, to have done it _to_ you." Bode realized that they were holding each other, tightly, right in the middle of the Accepted wing.

Bode broke away and kissed Rif on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow," she whispered in his ear. As she entered her room, Bode looked back. "Don't forget to take a shower." he quickly closed the door and slumped against it. Rif cared for her, too! Sfe would have shrieked for joy, if she weren't so tired.

* * *

Rif ran on silent feet through the White Tower and bolted himself in his quarters. Bode cared for him, too! He wove a quick silencing ward and shouted for joy at the top of his lungs, then let the ward dissipate. Then he smelled something, something rank. He sniffed again and realized it was himself.

Maybe a bath wasn't a bad idea.

* * *

Elle finley sat on her bed, tears leaking from her eyes. She combed her fingers through her light hair, odd for a Two Rivers girl, almost without thinking. She had been _replaced_! Pain lanced through her heart at the thought.

Elle was from the Two Rivers, from one of the outlying farms, and had been among the fourteen recruited by Verin Sedai and Allana Sedai. During the Tower Schism, she and Bode had been in the same novice family together and had grown into fast friends. Then they had been raised to Accepted together after the Tower was Mended, and had studied together, their friendship stronger than ever.

Then _he_ came … Arason. They had tried linking and then, like a flash, were spending all their time together. Bode rarely spent time with Elle anymore. It was like she didn't even exist. That black-coated, sword-swinging woolhead had taken her spot in Bode's heart.

When they had been set chores as punishment, ones designed to separate them, Elle had grown hopeful again. Bode would be exhausted and lonely; she would need a shoulder to cry on.

But Elle had come too late. Arason was already there, holding her. They had talked and he had … kissed her! The she kissed him! Elle felt anger flood her veins, burning away the sorrow. It wasn't fair! Bode was her friend first!

Elle tried the novice exercises, trying to calm down. Tower custom—this had to be reported. Elle tucked herself into bed, pulling the covers tight. She would report to Tiana in the morning.


	8. Chapter 7

**Welcome back, ladies and gents. Back to the longer chapters, thank you. Happy about all the favs, follows, and reviews; keep 'em coming! Anyways, on with the chapter!**

 **Chapter Seven**

Sweat ran down Rif's face as he focused weaves of Earth and Fire at the stone walls surrounding him. Brick by brick, the Aes Sedai had ordered. As punishment for "interfering with an Accepted's studies", he was to tear apart this accursed, incomplete palace brick by bloody brick.

This weave to destroy stone was one of the simplest in the black tower's arsenal, taught to every soldier for training and clearing stones from the Tower grounds. It was simply bad luck that the weave was comprised of his weakest Powers. His raw strength in _saidin_ made up the difference, but it was still disconcerting. It was like the Aes Sedai had known exactly how to make his punishment difficult. On second thought, they probably did.

Rif panted as he released the Source, hands-on-knees to regain his breath, and frustration churned within the normally pleasant ex-Huntsman. What he had told Bode about his beginnings at the Black Tower was completely true. Fellow soldiers had mocked him for weeks after he began channeling for being weak in the Powers that all other men were strong in, his strength instead lying in Water and Air. They really had called him "girly" on occasion. Ironically, this had led to his kinship with Androl, the formerly-called "pageboy".

The insults had not fazed him much at first, but eventually he had had enough of it. He had challenged the Dedicated leading the efforts to a dragon-fight, an unofficial dogfight to settle disputes among those of low rank. Mazrim Taim had turned a blind eye to the practice, likely hoping it would weed out the weak, and Logain still permitted it to clear the air.

Rif grinned at the memory of the fight. Taim had prohibited experimenting with the Power unless your were one of his little cronies, but many had chosen to do so anyway. Rif was one of them, and had developed several weaves of his own that used almost solely Water and Air. Naturally, during the dragon-fight, his opponent had used mostly Earth and fire, weaves Rif had memorized as part of the soldier's training. Rif's weaves had been unexpected, unorthodox, and often quite powerful. Rif had beaten his opponent with ease thanks to the pond near the sparring grounds.

After the match, no one had mocked him or any others that had favored the "feminine" Powers. The thought made Rif sigh in contentment, his frustration drained away into the rivers of memory. He grimaced as he looked at the walls again. Inner peace wasn't making this punishment any less unpleasant. Especially with the team of Reds watching his every move.

Rif sought the Void, the trick his uncles had taught him for hunting—they called it the "stillness"—and sensed the Source. He grabbed hold as if wrestling an angry boar (it had happened; long story) and reveled in the conflict; the sheer raw _fury_ of _saidin_ and easily dwarfed the dregs of his frustration. He wove the stone-shattering weave and destroyed half a wall. It was a leaf on an oak tree, but he was done with about half the palace in little over a full day of work. Not too shabby.

Rif pushed on, thoughts of Bode lifting his spirits. He had been overjoyed at last night's events. Bode returned his feelings! Elation skimmed the edge of the Void, almost shattering the balance and him along with it. He let the Source go and suppressed a shout of joy. It wouldn't end well for his "handlers" to get even more suspicious.

Rif seized the Source and carried on with his work. The sooner he reached his quota, the sooner he could see Bode.

* * *

Irella strode determinedly across the grounds to the sight of the former palace, faint booms echoing from the Dedicated's punishment. The Accepted had wondered why that stain on the White Tower grounds had been allowed to remain after the attack by the Seanchan, but it didn't matter anymore. The Aes Sedai were putting it to fine use.

Irella approached the Reds meant to keep an eye on the Dedicated and curtsied. "Speak, child," said one of the Reds, causing Irella to suppress a smile at what was to come.

"Cariandre Sedai has summoned the Dedicated, Aes Sedai," she reported as neutrally as she could manage. Due to their rank within the Black Tower, it had been decided that the Dedicated would sit under the jurisdiction of the Mistress of Novices, just as Accepted did. However, other Aes Sedai were allowed to summon them to test their knowledge and fill in gaps that were found. The Reds remained cool and nodded, motioning her towards the man (she refused to call him by name! A man channeling did not deserve such a thing!)

Irella headed for the sight and let a small smile slip through. As she approached the palace site, soon to be ruins, the muffled booms of of the Dedicated's work became sharper. Irella forced down her apprehension at being so near a man channeling. As she mused over what she would say, careful to put as much sting into the words as possible, a wall collapsed beside her. Irella shrieked and fell into a ball, making as small a target as possible.

"Oh Light, I'm sorry!" a voice shouted. Irella opened her eyes to reveal the Dedicated standing over her. It took a full three seconds to notice her arm, twisted at an odd angle, and pain surged through her. Irella bit down a scream, tears flooding down her cheeks, but only lower it to an agonized groan.

And as soon as it came, the pain faded away, replaced by a feverish warmth. She felt someone's hand on her forehead. It was a Healing, and it came from … _him_?! The Dedicated smiled down at her, a charmingly, sickeningly sincere smile. "There you go, Irella. Feel better?" He knew her name?

Irella scooted back and stood, an enraged scowl on her face. "You've been summoned by Cariandre Sedai of the Red Ajah," she spat venomously. "Follow me, now!" And with that, she turned on her heel and retraced her steps, not caring if he had trouble following. She slowed her pace near the Reds, who looked at her with critical eyes. She realized she had lost the dignity that all Accepted were expected to maintain. Irella bit her lip and pressed on, desperate to salvage something from the event.

* * *

Moiraine glided down the stairs leading to the Ajah quarters, followed closely by Thom. Many believed the gleeman to be an odd choice for a Warder, especially after Lan, but moiraine was more than aware of how skilled and dependable he was. And besides, she would never leave her husband unbonded.

A flicker of curiosity bled through their bond, turning Moiraine's head. One of the Dedicated was being escorted higher into the Tower, toward the rooms of the Red Ajah. Moiraine noted that it was the very Dedicated that had rumors swirling about himself and young Bodewhin. He seemed calm, but had a nervous cast to his expression, as if unsure of himself.

Moiraine continued on after the Accepted guiding the boy curtsied. She waited a moment, then turned to follow their ascent. Moiraine had good instincts, but the dread she felt was something else, something more. The trip through the ter'angreal at Rhuidean came to mind, a possibility of what would come. And her instincts screamed that this possibility could end very badly.

* * *

Rif swallowed nervously as Irella (he was pretty sure that was her name) led him through the quarters of the Red Ajah. He had to admit, they took pride in their identity. The floor tiles were glazed scarlet with occasional white, almost like blood, and the doors wore a crimson finish emblazoned with the Flame of Tar Valon. Somehow, even the torches blazed red.

Irella finally stopped at a door, then turned on her heel and left. The woman's sudden departure, and the unsettling smile she had worn as she left, did nothing to settle his nerves and he seized the Source, the calmness of the Void helping some and the raging storm of _saidin_ diminishing his fear. He knocked three times and was answered. He entered to find whom he assumed to be Cariandre Sedai.

She was good-looking, if not a beauty, with short-cut dark hair, dark eyes, and pal skin. He was fairly sure she was Ghealdanin, but wasn't positive. Nationalities had always given him trouble; people were just people in his opinion. The woman held a cold expression, and he got the feeling she was fighting back a scowl. Or perhaps a look of disgust.

Cariandre motioned him forward, and he reluctantly obliged. She began circling him, like a mountain cat circling a wounded deer. Fear flickered along the edge of the Void. The Red Ajah had been built on the foundation of hunting men who could channel, men like him. But the Cleansing of the Taint, as well as the Al'Vere Pact, would have made that underlying purpose futile. What could she possibly want with him?

"I have heard tell that you have become quite close with one of the Tower's Accepted," she said cooly. She could only mean Bode. Rif inwardly cursed the tendency for gossip to exaggerate. Several rumors implied they had flaunted in front of the Hall of Servants themselves. Rif focused on the struggle to control _saidin_ and said nothing; best not to incriminate himself or Bode.

"It matters not if you answer," she said coolly, as if reading his thoughts, 'I know the truth. One of your own has told me everything." Zavier, Rif thought bitterly. Or rather, he felt bitterness at the edge of the Void. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to humiliate the ex-noble.

"Our Accepted need their concentration," she continued, "and don't have time for frivolous romances. You will stop seeing this girl, Arason." The look in Cariandre's eyes showed that it was not a request.

"No," Rif said, without hesitation. Cariandre's eyes widened at the single word, as if it were the last thing she expected to hear.

"You dare-" she started, but Rif cut her off.

"Yes, I dare," he said, his voice cold with the Void. "I have been brought here to learn, but my personal life is no concern of any Aes Sedai but the Mistress of Novices or the Amyrlin Seat. Bode is doing perfectly well in her studies, tackling each subject with a zeal that astounds me. Frankly, I don't know why she hasn't already been raised."

Rif flinched inwardly at that last comment; it wasn't wise to antagonize this woman, but he then realized he didn't truly care. He had spoken the truth. "Do not summon me again," he warned, "and do not take this out on Bode." He squared his shoulders, a good three inches taller than Cariandre, and looked her straight in the eye with every scrap of threat he could muster. "Or you will not like the consequences."

Rif moved to walk around Cariandre, as she was blocking the door, but a sudden tingling across his skin stopped him. Cariandre had embraced the Source. She focused on him with far more malevolence than he had her and placed a palm on his forehead. Rif gasped as the feeling of saidar wrapped around him, through him, and within him, like a spider wrapping a fly in her web. A tight ball of emotion sprang up in the back of his mind, laden with contempt, fury, and just a tinge of pride.

Rif paled as horror nearly shattered the Void. "You bonded me …" he whispered. Cariandre smiled smugly. Rif felt a powerful force drive through the bond, forcing him to obey.

"You will do as you are told," she said sternly. "Break the girl's heart and never speak to her again." Rif closed his hands in revulsion; even wrapped in the Void, a single tear escaped his eye.

* * *

Moiraine had heard everything. Her eavesdropping trick really did come in handy at times like this. She started to reach for the door, but Thom held her back. It was good he did, as the door exploded outward. Cariandre flew out, her body flying back had destroyed her door, and crashed into the opposing wall. Riften strode between the pieces of wood that littered the hallway, cold fury written into every line of his body. Like a snowstorm trapped in a snow globe.

"Release me, he demanded. "NOW!" The fact that he had shouted while channeling shout just how furious he was. Cariandre spat a glob of blood and stood, her smug expression belying the fear behind her eyes. The boy must have had her shielded. Reds began spilling into the hallway, all shining with the glow of _saidar_. Moiraine embraced the Source and drew on her _angreal_ , weaving a voice-augmenting weave in a fraction of a second.

"Leave them," she commanded. "Hear what he has to say!" Riften appeared not to have heard, but none of the Reds attacked. Moiraine may have been weaker since her return from the Finn's realm, but her reputation and the standing it provided was greater than anything these women could hope to match.

Cariandre smirked wider. "What will you do, boy? If you kill me the Red Ajah will destroy you." She said it with such certainty, but Moiraine could tell she was mostly trying to convince herself. Riften's posture only grew stiffer, such a stark contrast to the boy's usual sweet nature.

"You bonded me without permission," he said, eliciting a gasp from the Reds. "Do you deny it?" he asked. Cariandre's lack of response was answer enough. The red floated off the ground, frozen in flow of Air. "I learned to field dress animals when I was a child. Release me, Cariandre, or I will skin you like a hare!"

Moiraine felt a flicker of fear. He _meant_ it! "Release the boy," a Red sister proclaimed; a new Red, one that lacked the ageless face. "What he has done does not merit this."

Cariandre turned to face the offending Red, her eyes shining with equal fury and confusion. "He has interfered with an Accepted. He cannot go uncontrolled," she argued.

"That," Moiraine replied calmly, "is a matter for the Mistress of Novices to decide. Or the Amyrlin Seat. Not you, Cariandre." Many of the Reds nodded, though reluctantly given their expressions. Moiraine hated to see an Ajah turn on its own, even the Red, but Cariandre's actions were inexcusable.

"Release the bond, Cariandre," she ordered, striding forward. A part of her noticed many of the Reds stiffen ever so slightly, the Aes Sedai equivalent to shouting support. "One with the authority of the Hall will straighten this out."

Moiraine looked into Riften's cold gaze. "Release her," she commanded. "I swear to you she will face full justice for what she has done." An Aes sedai could not lie and was bound by her oath; he had to know this. Thom stepped forward.

"Lad, I spent most of the last ten years never trusting any Aes Sedai. But if you can trust one, it's Moiraine Sedai. I swear on it, on her."

Riften's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but apparently her name caught his attention. Cariandre dropped to the ground and the fury drained from Riften's stance, leaving only exhaustion and … was that sorrow? He fell against the wall and lowered his head with a heavy sigh. Moiraine thought she saw a tear fall.

Moiraine approached Cariandre. "Release the boy," she ordered again, this time more forcefully. "Now."

Cariandre stood straighter, her height giving her a slight advantage. But when she looked around them at her Ajah, she seemed to see no support. None at all. She scowled in distaste and the glow of _saidar_ surrounded her. The weaves of the bond appeared for a brief moment, and dissolved like ink in a river. Riften slumped in relief. Moiraine pointedly left without a thank you or any other courtesy.

Thom took Riften by the shoulder and led him to follow her. The Reds shielded and escorted Cariandre. Moiraine glided down the stairs, as if the whole thing had never happened. She had a task that needed tending.

* * *

Bode sat in one of the White Tower's communal areas and formed the seventy-second testing weave, despite the crawling sensation all over her skin. Leane Sedai had taught her the weaves and Gregor, the other dedicated she actually liked, had agreed to help her train. The Saldaen remained impassive, but he was really good at distracting her without hurting her. And she was pleased with her progress; despite Gregor's efforts, she had completed the weaves twice.

Just as she finished the weave, a Power-enhanced announcement ran through the walls. "Cariandre Sedai has been called for Trial by the Hall. All Sisters and Accepted, and the Dedicated emissaries, are to attend immediately."

Bode traded a glance with Gregor, who seemed impassive as always, and stood to follow the crowd to the Hall of the Tower. Upon finally entering the Hall, Bode was stunned at the sight of a Red, Cariandre, kneeling before the Amyrlin and the Hall of Sitters and shielded by a member of each Ajah. Bode heart clenched at the sight of Rif standing stoically to the side of her, Moiraine Sedai and Thom opposite him. Asha'man Androl stood at Pevara Sedai's side, his eyes sharp with disapproval.

The Keeper of the Chronicles stood and began the formula for the trial of an Aes Sedai, to which all other formalities were repeated.

"Why is this sister brought before the Hall?" Pevara Sedai proclaimed, another part of custom.

Moiraine strode forward to address the Hall of Sitters. "Cariandre has broken both ancient and modern custom. She has bonded the Dedicated Riften Arason without permission and attempted to force him to sever ties of friendship she disapproves of." Bode stifled a gasp of shock. Rif had been _bonded_?

"In retaliation and fury," Moiraine continued serenely, "Riften attacked and restrained her. She has dissolved the bond and they have both been brought for judgement to be given." Moiraine stepped back. The Amyrlin addressed Cariandre, her gaze heavy with disappointment.

"Do you refute these crimes?" she asked, her voice as steely as Bode had ever heard it. Cariandre's posture went rigid, but her voice was clear.

"I do not," she almost spat. "This boy has gallivanted with an Accepted and made a mockery of our Tower. He has to be brought to heel." She said these words as if his actions had threatened her, personally.

"And you believe this warrants your actions?" Pevara asked coldly, as if scolding a child for bullying her siblings. The question was met with silence under the Amyrlin seats harsh glare.

A Sitter for the Blue stood and called for judgement. In short order, a Grey pronounced the law of the matter, as well as the records and consequences over a similar occurrence many decades before, and the stipulations of violating the Al'Vere Pact. After a quick vote, the lesser consensus was reached. In a matter of minutes, Cariandre was sentenced to ten years on a farm outside Tar Valon, forbidden from channeling, and was escorted out.

"Now, about the boy, Moiraine?" Pevara said. "You said he attacked Cariandre in retaliation?"

Moiraine approached to address the Hall. "I will respect the Hall's decision," she said, "but I would offer a suggestion. The boy has been wronged, no matter his transgressions. And while his response was violent, it was also understandable considering what has happened. This incident aside, he has been nothing but courteous to all members of the White Tower, from Aes Sedai to the servants."

Pevara nodded silently, acknowledging the observations. "What would you propose, Moiraine Sedai?" a Red Sitter asked.

"I would request that the boy be returned to his current duties without further punishment. He is honorable, and will not cause trouble now that judgement has been passed." With that, moiraine retreated to accept the Hall's decision.

Pevara turned to address Androl. "Asha'man Androl, as representative of the Black Tower in this affair, what would your recommendation be?"

Androl stepped forward to speak. "None of us would like to see conflict between the Towers. What has been done today was an isolated incident and does not require strife between us, the greatest powers in the Westlands. Moiraine Sedai is correct; I know Arason personally, and he is an honorable and courteous young man. He will not hold a grudge for this, I believe. I would request, as well, that he not be punished further." With that, he stepped back.

Bode kept her face smooth, but her insides writhed. She held back a cringe, waiting for them all to reject the notion, to demand Rif be punished for attacking an Aes Sedai. For them to demand a gentling. In anyone else she would expect shouting and fury, but not Aes Sedai. What she also didn't expect was their silence. And a nod from the Amyrlin Seat. And was that a flicker of a smile?

"Riften Arason," she announced. Rif lifted his head to face her, his expression clear of emotion. "You will return to your duty of clearing Elaida's palace," she commanded. "And you will do so with utmost haste." Rif swallowed and nodded in acceptance.

The Keeper announced the end to the meeting, Aes Sedai returning to their business and accepted to their classes. Moiraine left, pausing only to direct a brief smile at Bode. Bode fell in line behind the gleeman-Warder, her head spinning from the trial.

 _What just happened?_ She asked herself.

* * *

Pevara sat behind her oak writing desk, Aes Sedai calm to the core. Tesan stood to her right, face as icily serene as any White could hope to be. And before her stood quite possibly the most famous woman in the White Tower's recent history: Moiraine Damodred.

"What is it you want, Moiraine?" Pevara asked. "I let your speech within the Hall slide because it was the right thing to do." Pevara had, since her surprise Raising, been challenging many laws and customs of the White Tower, with the help of Cadsuane and Androl, to root out stagnation that hindered the Tower's overall purpose. She had not met the late Egwene al'Vere, but her work in that regard had earned Pevara's respect. She had made an excellent Amyrlin, even with her short time in the official office. "What more could you ask for?"

Moiraine gave the barest hint of a smile. "Before Arason's … fit of temper, he voiced an observation to Cariandre that I can't help but pursue." pevara raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Why haven't we raised Bodewhin Cauthon?" Moiraine asked.

* * *

A week after Cariandre's trial, Bode and Rif were leaving the Accepted's gallery for breakfast. Rif had been in fearfully low spirits after the trial, but had slowly returned to his cheerful self, thanks in part to finishing his punishment two days after the sentencing. Bode was just grateful everything had gone over so smoothly and she had her friend (or whatever they were, neither knew) back.

As if on cue, Tiana approached, wearing her shawl. "Bodewhin Cauthon," she intoned, "you are summoned to be tested for the shawl of an Aes Sedai. The light keep you whole and see you safe."

 **Uh oh, what's in store for Bode in her test? Wait and see! If any of you have ideas for a test to raise an Asha'man, PM me or leave a comment. I have a few vague ideas, but I really need input on that. Any help would be greatly appreciated. And leave reviews, they make me happy!**


	9. Chapter 8

**Sorry about the late chapter, guys and gals. Real life interference and stuff. Let's get on with the show!**

 **Chapter Eight**

In front of a small cabin set into the base of Dragonmount, far closer than anyone else dared to live, a lone figure stood splitting wood. The man was quite tall and broad-shouldered, with short-cut black hair and blue eyes, a small beard covering his chin and upper lip. Many would have called him quite handsome.

Rand al'Thor wiped the sweat from his brow and began stacking the wood by the door of his home. Even after eight months he marveled at having his hand back. Rand examined the blade and willed it to sharpen; it did. He had learned since the Last Battle that, though he could no longer channel, he could impose his will upon the world, like a dreamwalker in Tel'aran'rhoid. But there were still things he like to do by hand; it helped keep him humble.

Rand placed the axe in its spot by the door and entered his home. Inside, the wood walls were covered with notes and drawings of the Age of Legends cultivated from Lews Therin's memories, his own memories. Rand had resolved after his "death" to make the world better, and the Towers White and Black were the best way.

Several leather-bound notebooks, emblazoned with the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai, were filled with descriptions and illustrations of ter'angreal, lost Talents, forgotten weaves (at least for men), and numerous other uses of the One Power that he would leave in the care of those he trusted not to abuse them.

Rand picked up a drawing of one such individual he had observed in the Black Tower, and more recently the White: a young man with an open and honest face. Riften, his name was. Rand smiled a little. The young man was strong and talented, but didn't consider it important. Didn't consider power important. Only his family and a certain girl.

Rand placed the picture back on his desk and grabbed a bag of thick, dark material. He left the cabin, locking it up with a stray thought, and vanished as if he had never been there. He had work to do.

* * *

Tiana led Bode away to a narrow staircase that spiraled into the bedrock foundation of the White Tower. After nearly two years in training, she was to be tested for the shawl. She, Bode Cauthon, was to be tested for the shawl?! It seemed impossible, like she would wake up any moment in her bed in the Two Rivers for chores and see Mat, Rand, and Perrin getting into trouble for her and her sisters to tattle on.

Dread suddenly gripped her heart. What if she wasn't ready? She had competed the weaves before while distracted, but who knew what the testing would entail. Gregor's distractions may not, probably were not, up to scratch. A memory came to the forefront of her mind, the conversation with Gregor at her last practice three days prior.

"What if I'm not good enough?" Bode asked. Gregor smiled and cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Every man and woman who has faced a test of any kind has felt that," he said. "Even those who seem the most confident struggle with dread." The Saldaean steepled his fingers. "But I believe you are ready, girl." He smiled again, his gaze moving beyond Bode. "And I'm not the only one who does."

Bode turned to see Rif approaching, all optimism and cheer.

They believed in her, a girl from the tiny village of Emond's Field. The same village as the most powerful Aes Sedai in centuries and the most recent Amyrlin Seat. Bode quashed her fear and reaffirmed her mask of Aes Sedai serenity. Whatever this test, she would pass, no matter what.

At the lowest level of the spotlessly clean tunnels, Tiana stopped before a pair of heavy doors, polished to glistening. Tiana channeled flows of Air to open the doors, which glided soundlessly on oiled hinges, revealing a shining, white-domed chamber. Seven Aes Sedai, one for each Ajah, stood around a silvery oval ring a span in height and sparkling with shifting colors, standing unsupported. A ter'angreal.

"Attend," Tiana said. The Aes Sedai moved into a ring around them, shawls wrapped around their shoulders. "You come in ignorance, Bodewhin Cauthon. How will you depart?"

Bode blinked once before answering, confidence she didn't feel lacing her words, "In knowledge of myself."

"For what reason have you been summoned here?" Tiana intoned, formal as Boe had ever heard her.

"To be tried," Bode answered formulaically. She wished for a moment that it didn't sound like an actual trial, but banished the thought as foolishness.

"For what reason will you be tried?"

"So that I may learn if I am worthy." Bode forced herself to be calm. Rituals such as these usually helped her to relax, but this was doing quite the opposite. She just wanted to get the test over and done with, like her punishments back home.

"For what will you be found worthy?"

"To wear the shawl." And as per the ritual, she began to disrobe. It was an ancient custom; testing clad in the Light, to show that she would trust in the Light's protection above all. She began with the buttons down the back of her dress.

"Therefore I will instruct you," Tiana continued. "You will see this sign upon the ground." She channeled, her finger drawing a six-pointed star in the air, two overlapping triangles written in fire.

Bode felt a sister embrace the Source and touch a weave at the back of her head. "Remember what must be remembered," the sister intoned. Bode forced her fingers to keep unbuttoning, smooth and steady. An Aes Sedai always remained calm. She would need that calm now more than ever.

"When you see the sign," Tiana continued, "you will go immediately, at a steady pace, neither hurrying nor hanging back, and only then may you embrace the Power. The weaving required must begin immediately, and you may not leave that sign until it is completed."

"Remember what must be remembered," the sister murmured.

"When that weave is complete," Tiana said, "you will see that sign again, marking the way to go, again at a steady pace, without hesitation."

"Remember what must be remembered."

"One hundred times you will weave, in the order you have been given and in perfect composure."

"Remember what must be remembered," the sister murmured one last time, and the weave settled on her like a Healing would.

All of the sisters except Tiana moved away and circled the ter'angreal. They knelt as one and embraced saidar and channeled. The color-shifting of the oval ring sped faster and faster until it looked like a thin, round kaleidoscope. The sisters wove all five Powers almost as complexly as the testing weaves, all concentration on their task.

Bode breathed slowly, but deeply, quelling her raising anxiety. She finished removing her clothes, folding them in a neat pile with her Great Serpent ring on top. Bode gritted her teeth, face carefully smooth, at having to leave the ring behind.

Bode's skin pebbled and her feet chilled, but she forced herself to keep composed. She breathed deeply and evenly, her fear allaying and rising in a constant pattern in time with her breaths. Finally, the air within the oval ring turned white as fresh snow. Whiter, even. It began to revolve, slowly and silently.

No one spoke, but bode knew what would come next. She approached the ter'angreal at a steady pace, as if approaching her chores back home, neither hurrying nor lagging. She would pass; blood and ashes, she would! Bode stepped into the whiteness ...

* * *

Rif practiced with his daggers, slashing at a construct of clay; a training dummy referred to as a golem. Gregor wove strands of Earth to make it move, like a living opponent. Rif jumped back and hurled his daggers, pegging the golem's chest where a man's lungs would be, then drew his sword and beheaded the clay figue in one smooth motion.

Rif seized the Source and wove flows of Earth, wiping the clay from his sword blade, and let the Void go. He removed a handkerchief from his coat to wipe his brow. Ever since the Mistress of Novices had taken bode for testing, Rif had done everything he could to keep his nervousness at bay. Swordplay had done the most good, so far.

Rif turned to Gregor and nodded. The golem rose and reformed, the puppet strings of Earth back in place, and spat his daggers back out at him. Rif snatched his knives out of the air and wrapped himself in the Void, the stillness. He armed his knives and charged …

* * *

Rand appeared in Riften's room in the White Tower, the cloth bag clutched in his hand. It had been in the stasis-box where he had found the Seed that he had given to Elayne. Rand knew he was taking a gamble in giving this treasure away, but he had no personal use for it. And he felt he could trust the hands he was leaving it in.

Rand placed the bag on Riften's pillow, along with a note in an envelope. He vanished, leaving no trace. Time to wait and see.

* * *

Bode knew she had finished sixty-five weaves, but that was all. Why was she dressed in ragged Two Rivers woolens? Why was she so tired? Where had all of these scratches and welts come from? Bode calmed herself, brushing away the panic like an unwanted cobweb, and moved forward. She recognized Caemlyn, and stood in front of Culain's Hound in the Outer city, the inn where she and the Two Rivers initiates had stayed.

The streets were eerily empty, as if anyone who lived there had simply vanished. Bode saw a symbol, two overlapping triangles, set out in the paving stones near a large fountain. She remained calm and moved toward it, her pace measured and composed.

As she began to walk toward the symbol, a piercing hiss arose, seemingly from the ground itself. Bode slowly turned to see Rand al'Thor, dressed in those fine clothes; just as he had been when he visited Culain's Hound two years ago. Despite the distance, she saw his lips curve up into a smile. A horrifying, cruel smile. Rand's form twisted and his skin ripped apart like paper, revealing a sinuous monster identical to the Dragon banner that supposedly now flew at the Black Tower.

The dragon crept toward her on muscular legs, tongue flickering out the taste the air. Though fear thrashed through her body, Bode kept her head (practically having to hold it by the horns) and continued toward the circle. The dragon weaved around her, ending up at the other end of the shape. It hissed threateningly. As soon as bode's toe touched the shape, she embraced saidar and wove the sixty-sixth weave: a weave of Fire and Water. As soon as she did, the dragon dissolved into mist.

Above the door of another inn, the same shape blazed above the door frame. She walked toward it, as calm as could be. She entered the doorway …

Seventy-one weaves. Aside from that, all Bode knew was that she was worn out and covered in bleeding scratches. Bode stood at the threshold of one of the cells in the White Tower's dungeon. Why was she here? As the thought crossed her mind, the ground shook and a symbol appeared on the ground at the opening of the hall, formed by cracks in the stone. Bode made for the symbol and stepped into it, embracing the Power and weaving a complex weave of Wind and Earth.

As she finished, the same symbol blazed at the end of the chamber. Bode held onto her calm and marched for the symbol until a sound caught her ear in the middle of the path. A trio of Aes Sedai appeared behind her just entering the dungeon, wrapped in … black shawls. The Black Ajah!

Bode fought down her fear and continued toward the symbol, weaves of Fire and Air flashing past her, blocked by her own channeling or missing by less than inches. She reached the end of the chamber just as the Black sisters began pursuing her.

Ninety-nine weaves. That was all she knew. Well, besides that she was hungry, near-dead with exhaustion, and clad in rags that a beggar would refuse. Scores of small wounds etched her body like a spider's web. Ninety-nine; only one left.

She moved through the doorframe and found herself … home? She was standing on the large porch of the Winespring Inn, facing the Green of Emond's Field. And then it shifted … and Bode had to fight back a shriek with all her might.

The buildings were smashed to burning rubble, the green was smoldering ash, the trees were twisted and desiccated. Corpses littered the Green, human and animal. And in the center of it all stood that shape, carved into the ground. Bode fought her horror down and moved toward the shape, not too fast and not too slow.

Bode crossed into it and wove the final weave, multi-colored sparks bursting in the air. She looked down from her weave to find herself in front of her childhood home; her father's farm stood before her, though that was not possible from the Green. The house was smashed to pieces and parts were on fire. Above the still-standing door frame blazed that now-hated symbol. Bode grit her teeth and walked toward it.

As she neared the shattered remains of the porch, a familiar voice caressed her awareness. "Hello, my lovely Bodewhin." Bode spun around to see Rif, clad in his black coat and a look of cruel humor in his eyes. His smile was like a shadow of itself; dark, twisted and … evil. He began to walk ever-so leisurely toward her.

"Do you like what i've done with the place? The Great Lord made it so much … warmer." bode stepped back, her eyes wide with fright that she couldn't fight down. Rif was a Dreadlord! He had destroyed her home! He had … no, it wasn't real. It couldn't be real! Bode turned and continued on her way. She stepped onto the porch to find a body beside her path. More than one.

Her father and mother lay splayed out next to the door of their ruined home, heads turned at impossible angles. Bode fought down her mounting panic and moved on. "Boode …" a voice weakly called. A tree was next to the porch, it always had been. And hanging from it by his neck was Mat. Blood leaked from his good and and from underneath his eyepatch. Bode grit her teeth, tears welling up, and kept on.

She reached the doorway marked with the symbol; only a few more steps. "Thank you, Bodewhin," Rif said. "You trusted me, made this possible. I owe it all to you." An evil, inhuman cackle cackle in Rif's voice followed her through the door …

… And she stumbled into the round, white chamber, the sudden light blinding her for a moment. She made it three steps before it all came crashing back, like a wave of experiences. Every monster, every injury, every near-death. Rif's dark doppelganger. And through it all, her effort to retain Aes Sedai serenity.

"It is done," tiana intoned with a sharp clap. "Let no one speak of what has passed here. It is for us to share in silence with she who has experienced it. It is done." She clapped again, the sharp crack even greater than the last. "Bodewhin Cauthon, you will spend tonight in prayer and contemplation of the burdens you will take upon the morrow, when you don the shawl of an Aes Sedai. It is done." A third clap. With dignity, Tiana gathered her skirts and left. The other sisters flocked toward Bode.

"Will you accept Healing, child?" the Yellow sister asked. She was plump and motherly, like a doting aunt. People probably felt they could trust her, ideal for a healer. "You are not in near the condition I have seen of some, but you may have it."

Bode nodded stiffly, her muscles cramping. "I really passed?" she asked. A Grey sister nodded as the weaves for Healing settled over her. The wounds ran from shallow scrapes to a two-foot gash along her arm, but the Healing made it all close, as if she had never entered the ter'angreal. But though the injuries faded, the weariness did not.

"The last of it was quite … creative," she said darkly, barely keeping the bitterness from her tone. A glance between the sisters revealed they knew of what she spoke, that they had seen everything.

"It is not spoken of, no matter what," the Grey sister responded. "Not to anyone at any time."

Four of the sisters left on their own, but the Grey and the Brown escorted her, clothed again, to a small office. As soon as they left, Bode hurried to her room in the Accepted's quarters, apologising to two Aes Sedai who chastised her pace (she was, after all, still Accepted until dawn) and ignoring the questions from Accepted, entered and bolted the door.

A servant or novice had made up a fire and laid a tray on a small table; removing the white cloth covering it revealed a large, still-warm meal, bigger than she had ever eaten. Strips of roasted lamb, cream-vegetable soup, beans with goat cheese, cabbage stew, a loaf of crusty brown bread, and a large pot of tea. Bode's stomach grumbled and she fell upon the meal. Before she knew it, all that remained were crumbs.

Bode placed the tray back on the table and curled up with a book. Then she thought about Rif. He must be near to bursting with anxiety. Bode closed the book and picked up her dishes to leave at the kitchens. The downcast looks of her fellow Accepted didn't bother her as much as they would have before, but they still stung. On her way out of the kitchens she saw Elle and, without thinking, hugged her fiercely. Elle seemed stunned for a moment before returning the gesture. Bode released her and hurried toward the training grounds.

She searched the grounds and finally found Rif, hacking away at a training dummy. The remains of several other lay strewn around him and Gregor was sitting on a nearby bench reading, his presence seeming to calm the former Huntsman ever-so-slightly. With a series of slashes and shouts, Rif left the dummy in shambles, his breathing labored as if he had been fighting for all of a day. Bode approached and whistled through her fingers, a trick he had taught her.

Rif swung around in surprise and a wide grin split his face. He charged and wrapped her in a hug, lifting her and spinning her around. "You passed, you passed, you passed!" he shouted in joy. Bode, trying to hold in her giggles, got him to put her down.

"I didn't say I passed," she mentioned.

"Nonsense," he responded. "For one, you would be frowning, if not crying if you hadn't. And secondly, there was no way you couldn't! You passed, my Lady Aes Sedai." He bowed formally, but his grin ruined the effect.

Gregor stood and clapped his book shut. "I believe I have some work to do," he said. "By your leave." He strode away just a little too nonchalantly. Bode and rif laughed at the stalwart Dedicated's antics, then started back toward the Tower. Tomorrow, bode would be Aes Sedai, a rank above Rif. She had better enjoy today.

 **To answer to a few comments:**

 **Andersen: 1) Rand's body was cremated, not buried. 2) I've read and re-read the epilogue and found no mention of Callandor being "buried" with "Rand".**

 **Andersen: The thing about how Brandon Sanderson wrapped up the series is he left it purposely ambiguous, allowing us to choose how we want it to end (perfect for fanfiction). I chose Pevara over Cadsuane for a number of reasons: 1) If Cadsuane didn't want to be Amyrlin, I doubt anyone could make her. 2) I find Cadsuane very difficult to write. 3) I like Pevara's character FAR more than Cadsuane. I like Pevara as Amyrlin; a kind Red who will be the first successful Red Amyrlin Seat and with strong ties to the Black Tower.**

 **Andersen: 1)Rif made a funnel of wind that lifted him; the wind not _saidin_ itself. Good guess on Bode's identity. 2)I can't find a single instance of even a hint at Galad being tested. I'm basing that on a popular fan theory that I like. Please from now on cite you objections with a website or page umber so I can read your viewpoint. I appreciate your critique, I just want to know where you find these arguments. **

**Guest: Mat and bode will interact and Mat will meet Rif. Just further along. "Patience is a virtue," and all that.**


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

By the light of her single lamp and a low fire, Bode dressed herself carefully, like before Bel Tine back in Emond's Field. Only this time was far more important. She suppressed a yawn with some effort. A night of contemplation meant sleep was forbidden and she was feeling the effects. But she wouldn't have been able to sleep even if she had wanted to; not with what was coming.

Bode finished dressing and began laying out the items she would carry over into her new life. Her clothes she left in the wardrobe; they would be washed and passed on to other Accepted. Bode had just finished laying down her grandmother's ivory comb, a gift from when she had left Emond's field, on the bed when they came for her. Bode jumped a little at the soft knock and straightened her skirt. She brushed her hair with her fingers and calmly, _calmly_ , answered.

At the door stood seven sisters, one from each Ajah, and each with their shawls wrapped around silk or wool dresses. A small smile twitched at Bode's lips when she saw moiraine was the Blue. In about an hour they would be equals, in rank if not experience, and Bode would be able to speak to her about her adventures in much more detail.

Bode joined the sisters wordlessly, the door closing behind her, and the sisters formed a circle around her and escorted her through the halls of the White Tower. Bode kept silent through the journey, almost desperate to maintain the ritual silence. The sisters retrace the path to the chamber where she had been tested, where they had all been tested, and broke apart to form a line before the doorway.

"Who come here?" Pevara sounded from inside.

"Bodewhin Cauthon," Bode answered confidently. Her heart fluttered with joy, but she had realized that part of being Aes Sedai was giving the appearance of calm, of control, even if you didn't truly feel it.

"For what reason do you come?"

"To swear the Three Oaths, and thereby claim the shawl of an Aes Sedai," she said clearly.

"By what do you claim this burden?"

"By right of having made the passage, submitting myself to the will of the White Tower."

"Then enter, if you dare, and bind yourself to the White Tower." Pevara wore a well-cut dress of grey wool that contrasted the Amyrlin's stole around her neck quite well. She stood framed by the oval _ter'angreal_ , the colors shifting slowly through silver and gold and all colors of all the Ajahs with sparkling radiance. Tesan stood to her side, a velvet cushion in both hands. The Sitters of the Hall of the Tower stood with their shawls in a ring around the walls, as well as two more sisters from each Ajah, all with their own shawls and an extra folded over their arms.

Bode resisted the urge to fidget under the sisters' expressionless stares. She gathered her skirts and passed through the _ter'angreal_ to kneel before the Amyrlin Seat.

From the velvet cushion in Tesan's hands, Pevara took the Oath Rod, a smooth, snow-white cylinder a foot long and a little thicker than Bode's wrist. This ter'angreal would bind her to the Three Oaths and to the White Tower forever. Bode breathed serenely, her journey almost complete, her journey almost begun.

Bode lifted her hands and Pevara placed the Rod gently to nestle in her palms. The glow of _saidar_ surrounded Pevara and she touched the Rod with a thin flow of Spirit. Bode closed her hands around the Oath Rod; it felt like glass, but if possible was even smoother.

"Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow never to speak a word that is not true." The Oath settled onto her very being, like weighted air pressing down on her. "Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow I will never make a weapon for one man to kill another." _Not that it will do much good with the Black Tower free to do so_ , she thought as the Oath settled, increasing the pressure she felt like and anchor. Bode tensed and relaxed, unwilling to pause. "Under the light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I vow that I will never use the One Power as a weapon except against Shadowspawn, or in a last extreme of defending my life or that of my Warder, or that of another sister." The Oaths settled even tighter, like chains wrapped tight around her body, and she breathed deeply. The feeling would fade, but only after a year. Pray that day came fast.

"It is done," the Amyrlin proclaimed, "and the White Tower is graven upon your bones. Rise now, Aes Sedai, and choose your Ajah, and all will be done that may be done under the Light." Bode kissed Pevara's serpent ring before turning and joining the blue sisters.

Like any Accepted, Bode had discussed the seven Ajahs with her friends, debating merits and faults. She had even discussed it with Rif, whose lack of experience in the matter allowed her to voice what she knew and examine it all with greater precision. Rif had supported her eventual choice wholeheartedly. The "Seekers after Causes" motto had made him smile. Bode would have it no other way. She smiled radiantly as she joined Moiraine and the others.

As her path became definate, the other Ajahs began their courtesies and departed in groups. After the Reds went, the last to depart, Pevara nodded her head and followed. What happened now was only for Blues.

Moiraine approached, followed by the Sitters for the Blue, and placed her blue-fringed shawl around Bode's shoulders. Another Blue, older by the color of her hair, kissed bode lightly on the cheeks, murmuring, "Welcome home, sister. We have waited long for you." Another in line repeated the action, and all the others.

Bode wiped a tear from her cheek with a joyous smile. She was home.

* * *

Rif sat in the Tower library as he waited for Bode to appear, a book of Andoran history in hand. She had said she would probably take some time, as she had to be schooled in the secrets of the Aes Sedai and the customs of the Blue Ajah in particular. It was barely past breakfast and he was already impatient.

Would she move past him? He was, after all, just a Dedicated. They had been of relatively equal rank before this raising, but now she would stand higher than him, an invisible and insurmountable barrier, unless he obtained the dragon pin. Rif finger the sword at his collar; it suddenly didn't seem so great.

"Rough time, lad?" Rif shot out of his seat into a salute to find Androl standing in front of him. Androl looked up at him with a small smile. "The girl will take some time, Riften. She has to become acquainted to it herself." The kind smile faded into a somber expression. :In the meantime, you have been summoned by the M'Hael."

Rif nodded without thinking, his training kicking in, and followed for five steps before hesitating, then continued on. Bode would take time and the M'Hael was waiting.

Rif swung at his opponent, Folding the Air, to which the Asha'man responded with Cutting the Clouds. Naeff had been a Queen's Guard before joining the Black Tower, and his swordsmanship was some of the best the Tower had to offer. Rif could barely keep up with the spinning wheel of light that was Naeff's sword. Rif knew he was outmatched, just as he had when he sparred with Lord Galad. But he couldn't afford to lose.

Rif whirled through the forms like a man possessed, similarities flowing through his mind. Folding the Fan, Unfolding the Fan. Leopard in the High Grass, Leopard in the Tree. Wind and Rain, The Cyclone Rages, Wind Blows over the Wall. Naeff appeared to falter, caught off guard by Rif's ferocity. Rif deviated, eyeing an opening, and swung for Naeff's neck, his blade stopping a hair's breadth from the Asha'man's neck. He barely registered Naeff's blade in an identical position on the opposite side.

Both men stood rigid, bodies tense. A draw; that was the best Rif could do. The sound of clapping caught his attention, breaking the spell over the combatants. Naeff grinned and sheathed his sword, bowing his head to Rif. Naeff approached the Telamons, who had watched their match and gave his report. Rif had passed.

Rif released a breath and trudged to an awning that had been erected in the shadow of Dragonmount, planning to take advantage of his quarter-hour break. Androl had brought him here to be tested for the dragon pin, for the mantle of Asha'man. Since the Last Battle, Logain and the Telamons had developed a set of standards for soldiers and Dedicated to strive for, the ideals of an Asha'man. Rif was being tested in these ideals, the Seven Skills of an Asha'man.

Upon Traveling to the base of Dragonmount, Rif had been shielded and told to work his way out of it. Not a hard job as all initiates of the Black Tower were trained to do so; and he had always been good at it. Then he had been told to shield Narishma; again, not easy but not overly difficult. That was the first Skill.

After that, they had begun flinging weaves at him, expecting him to cut them out of the air. Rif had enjoyed that particular test, even if it had pushed his limits. Cutting weaves, after he had learned how, had come as easy to him as walking. It had been his mission during the Last Battle to cut down enemy weaves.

Third had been an extremely thorough analysis of strategy. The Telamons had issued a string of possible scenarios for him to dissect and issue orders for as if he were the commander of the opposing force. No scenario had been the same, and all had been set against him. Difficult, but manageable. All Huntsmen were schooled in strategy for hunting down criminals. Each telamon had accepted his response.

Fourth was hand-to-hand combat, issued by a grey-haired Aiel who had chosen to stay at the Black Tower. Rif didn't stand a chance of winning against an Aiel, but Moshim had deemed him skilled enough to defeat any Westlander that came his way.

Fifth, partly as a break, Rif had been ordered to choose a subject from a list and, on the spot, compose a speech in regards to it. He had chosen the bonding of Aes Sedai and Asha'man as Warders, having thought about that many times during his tenure at the White Tower. In the test for public speaking, surprisingly enough, he had passed with flying colors.

The sixth test had been swordsmanship, which he had apparently done well in. Logain approached him, flanked by Flinn and Narishma, and gestured for Rif to follow. Rif stood and did as he was told despite his protesting muscles. Androl opened a gateway for them and Rif started at its destination. They were atop Dragonmount. Before him stood a large, thick, ornate metal door, worked from black iron with flames, thorns, eldritch symbols, and dragons.

Logain stood to the side and began the instructions. "Asha'man, in the Old Tongue, refers to a guardian or defender; a man who would give everything to pursuit of justice. We all know this, now you must learn it, Riften." He gestured to the gathered Asha'man, who seized the Source and began channeling into the doorframe. The symbols covering the doorframe began to glow, the dragons breathing arcs of fire. "Through that door is your final test, Arason. Remember: do not let you courage falter, for without it, we cannot call ourselves Asha'man."

The space within the doorway began to glow a fierce orange, like a raging fire burned in the other side. Rif stripped down to his leggings, his coat and shirt left behind and sword in hand, and entered the doorway …

Rif hacked and slashed at the shadows, red eyes glaring from their heads. A small family, father, mother, and three children, huddled behind him in fear. He didn't know how, but he knew that they were in danger from these … things. And he had to protect them.

The shadows, shaped like men and insect-like movements, lunged for him with glistening claws. His body was covered in scratches from the things. Others tried to get around him, to get to the family. Rif blocked their passage, wrapped in the Void and _saidin_ raging within him.

Rif wove lances of Fire to give himself breathing room. Before, those lances had destroyed two or three shadows a piece, now they barely finished one. The sun was setting, and somehow he knew that these things would be unstoppable in the night. Rif released the Source, too exhausted to channel. He readied his sword and fought on. They just kept coming.

A shriek caught his ear, and a wailing cry. He turned to find one of the shadows had gotten past him. The youngest child, an infant girl, was wailing in its arms as the monster fled. Rif shouted and pursued the creature, determined to save the baby. He caught up and slashed the shadow into oblivion, catching the child in a gentle grip. An instant later, pained cries filled the air. Rif gasped in horror as the shadows fell upon the rest of the family, tearing them to shreds. He had abandoned his post to save one child and left the rest to die.

Tears welled in Rif's eyes, but he refused to let sorrow consume him. He had saved at least one. With that thought, as if called by it, the shadows turned to him and approached, eager for the babe in his arms. Rif steeled himself and held the child close. He lashed out at one of the shadows, then killed another. He was exhausted and bleeding and near death himself, but he refused to let this child die.

A shadow knocked his sword away and lashed at Rif, who fell back to avoid its claws. He cradled the crying baby in his arms as the creatures advanced. A final desperate gambit rolled into his mind; it would never work, but it was this child's only chance. Rif stood on quaking knees and shouted in defiance, charging through the shadows, the child wrapped in his arms. He would shield her, he would save her. As the shadows clawed at him, brought him down, Rif curled inward to protect the baby girl. He shook the claws off and ran, one last burst …

Rif fell into the grass clinging to the top of Dragonmount. His sword lay behind him, no child in his arms. Rif's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed into the embrace of sleep.

In the courtyard before the ever-growing Black Tower, under the giant statue of the Dragon Reborn that faced outward and under a clear-blue sky, Logain held a velvet bag in his hands. Rif, dirty and exhausted even after being Healed and passed out for less than an hour, knelt on one knee before the M'Hael with his sheathed sword standing next to him like a staff.

Logain grinned widely and produced a gold, red-enameled dragon pin from the bag. "Riften Arason, under the light and by the will of the Dragon, I imbue you with the mark of an Asha'man." Rif's gaze jerked up to stare at Logain. Hadn't he failed to save the family? "Wear it with dignity," Logain continued, "as a symbol of what we stand for: justice, honor, courage. Courage to protect the innocent."

Logain lifted Rif to his feet and fastened the pin to the right of Rif's collar. Logain gestured to Neald, who produced a sword wrapped in a scabbard of fine, black snakeskin leather embossed with the Dragon's Fang in silver thread. "And as with all Asha'man, a Power-wrought sword. Like it's blade may your spirit never break, and like it's edge may your dedication and strength never fade or wear away." Logain presented the sword to rif, who buckled it onto his belt to replace his old sword.

Logain backed away and saluted to Rif, followed closely by the Telamons and all other Asha'man, dedicated, and soldiers in the crowd. "Hail Riften Arason, Asha'man of the Black Tower!" the men around him whooped three times and dispersed.

Logain approached Rif, Androl and Jur Grady—the newest Telamon, the Herald of Hinderstap—at his left and right. "Your tenure at the White Tower is officaly complete, Arason," Logain said. "Another Dedicated has been sent to take your place, as per the Al'Vere Pact. Enjoy your first week as an Asha'man as you see fit." With that, Logain turned away and left.

Rif's spirits, so high moments before, plummeted like a stone in a lake. He was finished with the White Tower? What about Bode?

"Remember your orders, boy," Jur said in his composed way. Rif looked up at the rugged farmer's face. "Enjoy your time as _you see fit._ " With a small grin, he turned and followed the M'Hael. Androl passed a large envelope to him with a wink, and followed as well.

After a moment, Rif's eyes widened in comprehension and and a smile split his face. He quickly wove a gateway and bolted through. What he didn't see was the Brown sister Gabrelle, wife and Warder of Logain, smiling at him from beside her husband. She had always admired young love.

* * *

Bode walked serenely, wrapped in her blue-fringed shawl, toward the Aes Sedai dining hall. She had left the Blue quarters earlier to look for Rif, but had yet to find hide nor hair of him. It was as if he had disappeared. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a figure in a black coat coming toward her. Her spirits soared for a brief moment, until she realized she didn't recognize the man.

She had never seen this one. A tall, lean Sea Folk with dark skin and tattooed hands, his head completely shaved. An Accepted was guiding him along, presumably to the Accepted dining hall. The Accepted curtsied and the Dedicated bowed gracefully as they passed.

"Who is this?" Bode asked, masking her rising anxiety.

"This is a new dedicated, Aes Sedai, to replace the andoran who was raised Asha'man. I was told to show him around." Bode kept her face straight and gestured for the girl to continue on.

The Andoran? That had to be Rif. He was _gone_? Well, she had been raised, so why not he? He probably had to learn the secrets of being a full-fledged Asha'man, act as an extension of their Tower. To go on missions to find men who could channel, search out pockets of living Shadowspawn, train soldiers. All of these thoughts did nothing to lessen the pain in Bode's heart. Would he ever come back?

"Bode?" She froze at the sound of that voice. Bode turned to see Rif, his back straight and his arms folded to hold the lapels of his coat. He would have looked quite debonair if the look of concern on his face weren't so … vivid.

"Bode, are you okay?" Rif approached her, his posture relaxing, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Bode folded into the gesture and hugged him tight, Aes Sedai dignity or no.

"I'm glad you're here," Bode whispered.

"Me, too," he replied.

Bode pulled away and examined him, her eye falling into the dragon pin sitting on his collar. "Well, it seems I heard correctly," she said with a smile. "Congratulations, Asha'man Arason." Bode gave a small curtsey.

"Congratulations, Bodewhin Sedai," Rif countered with a bow. Both laughed quietly, both secretly happy that these changes wouldn't harm their friendship. Or, whatever it was between them. Bode reflected on that line of thought and took Rif's arm, guiding him away from the dining hall.

"Where are we going?" Rif asked.

"You'll see," Bode replied, her mischievous streak kicking in. Bode and rif soon arrived in the garden where they had first met—or at least had first interacted—and turned to face Rif, her cheeks rosy with nervousness.

"Riften Arason," she looked him in the eye with as much determination as she could muster, "I would have you as my Warder. Will you accept?"

Rif's eyes widened in surprise before a smile spread across his face. "I would bond you, Bodewhin Cauthon. Will _you_ accept?" he asked.

Bode gasped at the thought, then remembered Androl and Pevara. The first double-bond, unique in its creation. The Aes sedai had come to view double-bonding as an act of utter faith. And who did she have more faith in than Riften?Bode nodded at the same time as Rif, accepting each other's offer.

Bode embraced the Source and slowly, carefully, wove the complex Warder's bond out of Spirit. The detached cast to Rif's expression told her that he was doing something similar. Bode lifted the weave above Rif's head, preparing to settle it over him, when Rif placed a hand on her cheek, rubbing softly. He leant forward and kissed her sweetly and she felt the asha'man bond settle over her. Bode melted into the kiss and settled the Warder bond over him in turn, linking them forever.

They broke the kiss and bode felt something strange; a blossoming of emotion in the back of her mind that she had read was part of the Warder bond, and then it circled back on her like a reflection in a mirror. Her own self melded with his in and endless circle. Rif's life flashed before her mind's eye, she saw his memories in full. And she felt him as he felt the same for her. This was like a circle had been … but it was far more _intimate_ than the circle ever _could_ have been.

After a few moments that felt like hours, the sensation began to fade. Not entirely, not by a long shot, but they seemed to achieve a sort of … balance. Bode collapsed to her knees, very aware of rif doing the same as he held her close. She felt different, as if everything before now had been a dream and she had finally woken up. It was like when she had first channeled, yet entirely different.

Bode looked up at Rif and started. He was glowing a soft orange, like a candle flame. She felt from his emotions that he was holding the Source. And then a thought struck her; it resembled the glow of _saidar_. And she felt in his mind a sense of relief, of tranquility, the utter opposite of how he described _saidin_.

Rif stood shakily and lifted bode to her feet. "Well," he chuckled awkwardly, 'that happened." Bode laughed out loud at the statement, her pent up emotions giving way to joy. After a moment, Rif joined her. "And I don't know how to undo this bond, so I suppose you're stuck with me." Bode sobered up and pulled rif into a fierce hug, and kissed him on the cheek. Channelers could live for centuries, and she swore then that she would never, in all that time, let him go.

* * *

Karl Zavier fumed in his room over this turn of events, thinking furiously—both in rage and in pace. Arason had been _elevated_! And by the look of them passing in the halls, he had bonded the Cauthon chit, who had been raised to Aes Sedai. This complicated his plans. The boy had to pay, for the duel months ago and the disgrace in their training, the dragon-fight. But now that payment would take even greater care. Logain had not ended the practice of the Traitor's Tree, and Karl had no intention of having his head decorating the branches for others to view on the way to training.

A soft tap at the door halted his thoughts. Karl seized the Source, just to be safe, and opened the door wide. Before him stood a red-haired, Taraboner Accepted. That alone was off, but it wasn't what caught his attention. This one had a familiar look in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders. He saw hatred in this woman.

Karl had not always been the best at the Game of Houses, at least among his fellow Cairheinin—his emotions ruled him too well for that—but he had always been talented at recognizing an opportunity. He gestured for the woman to enter; she did, with an air of arrogance to rival a full Aes Sedai.

As soon as the door closed shut behind her, a shield slammed between him and the Source, catching him by surprise and snapping his connection like a twig. She had done it so fast he hadn't even felt her connect to _saidar_. Flows of Air wrapped around him and bound him like a snared pig. Outrage flared within Zavier's gut.

"Release me, girl! Or suf-" A whip of air snapped across his face, cutting him off mid-sentence. He felt a welt begin to rise across his cheekbone.

"Just so we are clear," the girl said. "I have come to make a bargain. We both want the same thing: those who humiliated us to suffer. They outrank us now, on both sides of the coin." The accepted lifted him closer. "The only way to get what we want is together. But we must be patient."

The Accepted released the flows of air, but not the shield. She held out her hand. "Irella Bathor," she said. Karl hesitated, shamefully intimidated by this woman. But his rage flared back even hotter than before, once again reflected at Arason. In a way, this entire situation was the Huntsman's fault as well.

He took Irella's hand in a firm grip. "Lord Karl Zavier."

 **Easily my longest chapter yet. How'd I do on the Asha'man test? R &R**


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Three days after the double-bonding, Rif woke in the room of an unfamiliar inn. He puzzled at his surroundings for a moment before memory caught up with him. _The Two Rivers_ , he remembered. He and Bode had stayed at the White Tower just long enough for Bode's order of dresses to be delivered and had left to visit her home of Emond's Field. They were planning to travel the Westlands and see what the world was really like. Until then, she had arranged rooms in the Winespring Inn owned by the mayor.

Rf stood and stretched, his back popping. He mentally complimented the mattress, then washed and got dressed, taking a moment to admire the dragon pin at his collar before descending the stairwell to find Bode in the common room, just as he knew she would be. Bode was sitting with a lovely woman they had met upon reaching Emond's Field, Lady Faile. Rif deduced from Bode's feelings that they were discussing news since her last letter. Rif decided to let the ladies talk, sending a burst of affection through the bond as a greeting and heading through the back.

Rif strode through the crowds that filled the now-cobbled streets. Bode had described in great detail the changes that had come to Emond's field since the refugees came. What had less than two years ago been all wood-and-thatch houses were now interspersed with stone houses and tile roofs. The people themselves were just as changed; a mix of Andoran, Taraboner, and Domani dressed in a mix of fashions from their native lands.

Rif moved along past the apparently-new trade centers; glass blowers, carpet weavers, and the like. He had a much more pressing matter at hand. After some distance, pausing only to purchase some fried rolls for breakfast, he arrived at a large wood-and-stone manor outside the town, home of Lord Perrin. Inside the manor's reception chamber stood the man himself, accompanied by numerous younger men as well as some older ones. The boys were accompanied by their parents.

Rif saluted to Lord Perrin and gave a small bow, one that was respectful without being submissive. Lord Perrin nodded in return. "These are the applicants?" Rif asked. Lord Perrin nodded in answer. "You've informed them of what is expected?" Another nod.

"Lady Morgase and I made an agreement with the Black Tower that we would arrange a mass-testing twice a year," Perrin explained. "Your arrival couldn't have come at a better time." Perrin observed Rif with those startling golden eyes. "If you don't mind, Asha'man Arason, I'd like to observe the testing." Rif smiled and nodded his assent, still a touch unused to his new title.

Rif strode forward to a table set with sheets of paper and, seizing the Source, wove the voice-augmenting weave. "Settle yourselves, boys," he said, his voice booming within the chamber. "You are here to be tested for the One Power. The Black Tower will require great discipline of its students, so show me you have what it takes."All the boys stood straighter and squared their shoulders, to which Rif suppressed a chuckle. "For a line, boys, and let's get started."

Rif dispersed his weave and addressed the first boy in line. Strange to call him a boy; he was only a few years older than Rif himself. Rif gestured to the paper on the table and the quill and ink. "Your name?" he asked.

"Jaer al'Seen," the boy answered, writing his name on the paper with blocky letters. Rif addressed his next question to the boy's parents. "He has your consent?" he asked, to which they nodded, if a little reluctantly.

Rif seized the source and wove the simple testing flame. "Focus on this," he commanded gently. Jaer nodded and stared at it, sweating slightly. Observed the water clock that had been set on the table until a half-hour had been measured out, as was customary, with no sign of a resonance. He sighed and dispersed the flame. "I'm sorry Jaer, but you have no potential with the One Power." Jaer's face fell and Rif patted him on the shoulder. Jaer and his parents moved on, letting the next boy and his parents move up. And so the process continued …

Rif sighed as he swallowed a spoonful of stew Lord Perrin's staff had provided for his lunch. It was an hour past midday and he had tested a full twenty boys and two men; seventeen had shown a capacity to learn. Rif had heard during his time as a soldier that the Two Rivers had been a treasure trove, but he had never expected so much more. Not after Taim's staunch recruitment in the years before the Last Battle. And after five solid hours of holding _saidin_ , Rif himself was exhausted. Luckily, there were only four applicants left. More would come from the other towns over the next three days, but the end of _this_ day was near.

Lord Perrin, who had left to attend to his regular duties after the third applicant, sat down in the chair next to Rif. "How many?" he asked. Rif swallowed his food, grateful for every drop, and referred to the written records.

"Twenty-two have been tested so far - two have the spark and fifteen can learn for a total seventeen." The evening he and Bode had arrived, Rif had questioned Lord Perrin on his knowledge of the One Power and filled in what few gaps there were. Lord perrin nodded in understanding of his report. Rif quickly finished his stew and stood for the next young man in line.

The remaining applicants and nearly two hours later, only one other had shown potential. Rif shook of his exhaustion and, taking note of another Asha'man standing some distance away, addressed those who had shown ability. "In three days, meet in front of the Winespring Inn at the break of dawn to be escorted to the Black Tower. You may bring a few personal items with you, while clothing and necessities will be provided by the Tower itself. Now, go discuss it with your families, who I might add, are welcome to come with you."

The initiates ambled off, presumably to their homes, and rif heaved a quiet sigh. He wasn't used to delivering orders. Rif's mood brightened as he felt a shift in the bond that meant bode was nearby. As if on cue, she entered the hall in all her glory, dressed in a lovely gown of blue wool. Rif stood up and marvelled at the sight of her; the only word that came to mind was _beautiful_.

Bode's eyebrows shot up with a devious smirk. "What were you just thinking?" she asked all-too-innocently. Rif felt his cheeks redden at the question and he leveled his gaze at her.

"Do you really have to ask that?" he asked only half-seriously.

Bode shrugged. "I'd still like to hear it," she replied, batting her eyes. Rif grinned at her and placed an arm around her waist, his forehead touching hers. Bode blushed at the gesture. "I was thinking, milady, that you are the most breathtaking soul I have ever laid eyes on." Bode giggled and kissed his cheek.

Come on," she said, moving away, "you need to rest and straighten up; there is someone I would like you to meet tonight." Rif didn't need the bond to know she was up to something. That sparkle in her eye was all he needed. Two hours later, Rif (after a bath and nap) followed her to a recently-built inn called the "Dragon's Eye".

The place was crowded for dinner time, but the rotund Taraboner innkeeper marked by a veil across his mouth greeted them warmly and led them to a private dining room further back. The innkeeper asked if there would be anything else for "my lady Aes Sedai" before leaving. Rif was still trying to puzzle out what bode was up to. The table provided could seat a nearly a dozen.

A horrifying thought crossed Rif's mind just before the door slid open. In came a weathered, strong-looking man in his middle years with a collected-looking woman, likely his wife, followed by three girls. Rif's eye twitched as he noted similarities between the arrivals and bode herself. His worst fear had been realized.

She had brought him to meet her parents!

* * *

Eldrin led the way for her sisters as they approached the private dining hall of the Dragon's Eye. Bode had surprised them all when she arrived at the farm that morning, full of joy to see her family again and regaling them with stories of the White Tower. She had even hinted at a secret reason for this dinner. Eldrin, Hanna, and Gerda had spent the hours since debating what it could be.

Finally, they entered the dining room to find Bode, dressed in a beautiful gown and her shawl. Bode smiled warmly to all of them and Eldrin smiled back. Then she noticed bode was not alone, but accompanied by a young man dressed in a black coat with gold and silver pins at the collar. Eldrin couldn't help her smile widening into a smirk. Bode had bonded a Warder! And not just any Warder, but an Asha'man!

"Mother, Father," Bode said formally, "allow me to introduce Asha'man Riften Arason. Rif, my parents Abell and Natti Cauthon, and my sisters Eldrin, Hanna, and Gerda." The Asha'man, Riften, smiled widely as he shook their da's hand, then bowed to their mother and each of them in turn. The group took their seats with Da at the head of the table, Mother at his right and Bode at his left. Riften sat next to Bode with little Gerda next to him, Eldrin and Hanna facing them.

Eldrin took a moment to study Riften. He was a handsome man, she had to admit, with chestnut hair that fell to his shoulders and sky-blue eyes. He seemed very open and friendly, if a tad nervous. It struck Eldrin as odd that her mother had used tales of men who could channel to frighten her and her sisters when they did something wrong; the real thing wasn't so scary at all. The food arrived as she finished the thought and the family began eating.

So, riften," Mother said between bites, 'how long have you and bode been courting?" Eldrin looked up in shock, almost dropping her fork; apparently, she was not the only one surprised by the question. Riften choked on his roasted lamb and had to cough before looking up.

"Courting?" he asked hesitantly.

Mother looked at him with that level look that she had always given mat when he had gotten into trouble. "Yes, young man, courting," she answered smoothly. Riften's face bloomed red, as did Bode's. Eldrin had to hide a grin; she may be an Aes Sedai, but she was still their mother's daughter.

Rif took a sip of water before answering. "About two months now, Missus Cauthon," he answered. "I apologize for any offense I might have caused." Eldrin gaped at the man - he meant what he said with every fibre of his being. Any fool could see that. Rif placed a hand over Bode's apparently without thought. Mother smiled at him and nudged da, who smiled too.

"No offense taken, young man," he said. "You seem like a good match for her." Riften seemed to relax a little at his words and his smile returned.

Rif turned to face Gerda, who had been pulling on his sleeve for attention. She was fourteen, the youngest, and quite inquisitive. "Did you fight in the Last Battle?" she asked quietly, shyly. Riften's eyes grew distant for a brief moment before he smiled and nodded.

"I fought on the Field of Merrilor as a newly raised Dedicated alongside the Asha'man of the Black Tower," he raised his hands for effect, "against giant Trollocs, vile Fades, and evil Dreadlords." Riften kept changing the pitch and tone of his voice to add to the drama. "I was even a part of Androl's Miracle."

Riften took a deep breath, his food forgotten, and stood up. He lifted his hands and dense fog began forming as if emanating from the walls themselves, to fill the room. Then the fog … changed, forming shapes and colors, pictures so lifelike it seemed like a window to the past.

"Elayne Trakand, Queen of Andor and Cairhein," there appeared a beautiful woman with red-gold hair and blue eyes, heavy with pregnancy, "had to make her last stand against hordes of Trollocs outside Cairhein's walls. Her men were routed," an army appeared, the men fading away one by one, "and her Aes Sedai companions were exhausted. All seemed lost for the lovely queen.

"But then, out of nowhere, the ground exploded beneath the Trollocs' feet!" The Trollocs in the mist were blown up by explosions in the ground. "The Asha'man, led by Lord Logain, had arrived!" In the mist appeared a handsome man with dark hair and eyes, surrounded by men in black coats. 'The Asha'man attacked, knocking the Trollocs back, but only a miracle could save the queen and her forces. So Logain asked his second-in-command, 'Can you give us a miracle?'" A square man appeared and nodded to Logain.

Riften wove the story of a huge group of channelers joined in the power and led by Androl. His mistpictures swirled and morphed to illustrate the growing tale. He spoke of the massive "gateway" that poured forth molten stone from the heart of Dragonmount, and the Asha'man who wove winds to keep it firing at the Trollocs. He himself had been one of those. Eldrin was amazed by the story, and she believed all of her family were, too.

"And with that powerful counterstroke, their forces merged and made for the Fields of Merrilor to fight the armies of the Shadow, to turn the tide of the battle. And everything since … is history carved in stone!" Rif spread his hands, dissipating the mist, and bowed. The room seemed awfully dull after the performance.

Gerda clapped enthusiastically at the display, quickly followed by the rest of the family. Even Da clapped with a wide smile on his face. Eldrin leaned over to whisper to her mother. "I like him," she said. Mother nodded in agreement.

* * *

Rif sighed as he followed Bode up the stairs of the Winespring, trying to stave off his exhaustion. As they neared the rooms, two of the largest in the inn, Rif grasped Bode's wrist and leaned close to her ear from behind. "Don't ever spring something like that on me again," he whispered, forcing frustration through the bond.

Bode sent back amusement and shot a wry smile over her shoulder as she entered her room. As she closed the door, Rif could have sworn her gaze turned … sensuous. Then the door shut with a faint click and she was gone. Rif rubbed his forehead and crossed into his own room.

Rif locked the door and began pacing the room, his mind swirling with possibilities. He was fairly certain that Bode's family had liked him, but it was probably safest to remain on his best behavior. Not that that was much different from his everyday behavior, but it never hurt to be cautious. Rif unbuckled his sword belt and placed it by his bedside table, followed by hanging his coat on the hook by the door.

Rif sat on his bed, the bond carefully masked, and began searching his travel bags for his newest and most mysterious acquisition. He finally found the bag of thick material and unlaced it, revealing a well-made, dark-leather bracelet, similar to a small vambrace. Rif had found the bag on his bed in the White Tower after Bode had announced that she was to be raised to the shawl. He had been too distracted to study it then. He unlaced the bracer and pulled it on, tying it securely.

The leather bracer covered half of his forearm and seemed unnaturally sturdy, but it was the decorations that caught his eye. In the center of the piece was set a large, silver coin-like adornment carved with the image of the Great Serpent. Surrounding it were five slightly smaller coins decorated clockwise with an eagle, hawk, fox, and wolf.

Rif started at a knock on his door, a specific sequence used only by Asha'man. Rif stood and answered the door, revealing a Ghealdan Asha'man not five years older than himself with dark red hair. Tymoth grinned at Rif and clasped his forearm in the Asha'man greeting. Rif smiled at his friend; they had trained together as Dedicated before Tymoth had been raised just before the Last Battle and sent to Saladea. He ushered his friend in.

Tymoth sat in the chair by the bed while rif took his seat on the bed itself. "It's good to see you, Rif," Tymoth said quietly. Despite his penchant for wine, Tymoth had always had great manners in private, something Rif respected. Rif nodded in reply, then rubbed his forehead, suddenly unsure if he should have called on Tymoth for aide.

Tymoth's smile wavered and was replaced by a look of concern. "What's wrong, Rif?" he asked.

Rif started at the man's question. "Nothing, Tymoth. Why do you ask?" The side of Tymoth's mouth twitched up in a smile.

"You're doing that thing where you rub your forehead, like you do when you're stressed." He pointed at Rif's action. Rif removed his fingers and gazed at his hand in bemusement; he hadn't even realized he was doing it. Rif let his hand fall into his lap and he looked Tymoth in the eye.

"Tymoth, I need a small favor." Tymoth grinned again.

"I figured as much," he replied, "what with all the secrecy. What is this favor you need covered up?"

Rif removed the bracer and showed it to his friend. "I heard that you found your Talent, that you can identify _ter'angreal_." He passed the bracer to the Ghealdan. "Can you identify this for me?" Rif wasn't totally certain that the piece _was_ a _ter'angreal_ , but he had learned years ago to trust his instincts and they hadn't led him wrong since.

Tymoth examined the leather piece, running his fingers over it as his eyebrows rose steadily higher. "Where did you get this?" he asked, a touch of wonder in his voice. Rif's eyebrows shot up; Tymoth was never this impressed―about anything.

"I found it in my room at the White Tower. A note said it was for me and only me, addressed to me personally." A thought crossed Rif's mind and he removed the note from the bag. "The handwriting is male," he observed.

Tymoth thought this new information over for a moment. "So someone who either can make _ter'angreal_ or knows where a cache is just _gave_ you this?" Rif shrugged at the mystery and gestured for an explanation. Tymoth lifted the bracer up to give a clear view.

"The leather itself is treated with the One Power, much like Power-wrought weapons. It will never wear out or stain, and could probably block a sword blade," he explained. He touched the snake adornment in the center. "The serpent is an _angreal_ of lower-middle strength," he described. "The wolf is a Well, a device that can store a small amount of saidin for use in a stedding or when shielded. The eagle projects an invisible, very strong armor around the wearer. The fox disrupts weaves directed at the wearer, though does not completely dissolve them, and grows cold to tell when it happens. And the hawk grows warm when someone around the wearer is angry at them." Tymoth said it all with utter and complete certainty. "I don't know who left this for you," the redhead finished, "but it is an amazing gift." He passed it back to Rif without hesitation.

Tymoth folded his arms, a pensive look on his face. "A book was delivered to Logain's house a few months ago, written by the Lord Dragon with instructions to be delivered to the Black Tower after his death. It is a registrar of _ter'angreal_ from the Age of Legends. Logain allowed those who have Talents in making and identifying _ter'angreal_ to study it. One of the entries described something called a 'paralis-net', a set of _ter'angreal_ built for combat during the War of Power." He considered the bracer, now back on Rif's ar, with an impressed eye. "I think this is a standard male set."

Rif glanced down at the bracer, the paralis-net, resting on his forearm, awed at the thought that someone had deigned to leave it with him. He looked tymoth in the eye again, almost pleadingly. "Will you not tell anyone about this? Except for Logain and Androl. I don't want this getting out."

Tymoth stood with a wide grin. "I'll keep my mouth shut," he affirmed. Rif stood and shook his friend's hand.

"Thanks, Tymoth. This means a lot." The redhead nodded and, after a promise to meet up for drinks in the near future, Rif felt him seize the Source. A gateway opened a few inches above the floor and he stepped through onto a Skimming platform. Tymoth saluted to Rif, who saluted back, before the platform started to move and the gateway closed.

Rif sat to absorb what he had just learned. He glanced at the paralis-net, already deciding to keep it on his person whenever possible (to guard it if nothing else) and yawned. He would talk to Bode about it in the morning.

 **This chapter begins the "World Tour" arc of the story, in which Rif and Bode explore the various sites of the Westlands post-Last Battle. Leave reviews or PM me if you have a specific location or person in mind.**

 **Almost all of the characters in this fic are at least one-shot characters from the series. The Wheel of Time Companion and the Wheel of Time wiki are great sources.**

 **Thank you reviewers for your insights and support.**

 **Hitesh** **: thanks for your advice and I hope the test was to your satisfaction. The "door" was built based on the "oval" in the White Tower basement.**

 **Ria(Guest)** **: You'll have to wait and see how Irella and Zavier unfold. I thought it would be nice for Pevara to reinstate Tiana as a sign of goodwill to the former rebels - and yes, the Last Battle would have hardened her. Plus, despite Egwene's faults, she was a smart Amyrlin.**

 **Pegueng** **: I truly appreciate your defense of my reasoning and my vision. It was truly noble of you and is greatly appreciated. Thanks a million! Also, I believe I answered your question about the bag - hehehe...**


	12. Chapter 11

**Sorry about the wait, guys. Issues with internet connection and stuff. Bear in mind, updates will probably slow down, but I WILL NOT abandon this story or any others I publish. I hate it when that happens and I won't subject it to anyone who enjoys my work. Anyway, on with the show!**

 **Chapter Eleven**

On the fourth morning since their arrival, Rif watched with pride as three Asha'man instructed the recruits he had found on what they would experience at the Black Tower, and what would be expected of them. A total of twenty-nine men and boys, from all four of the Two Rivers settlements, began shuffling through the large gateway provided for them, looking both apprehensive and determined. The Two Rivers really did grow good men. Good men who would grow to be great Asha'man.

As the gateway closed, Rif turned his attention to the Mountains of Mist. For the past few days, Bode would disappear into those mountains for a few hours each morning, and would return around midday nearly exhausted. Every time he had asked her about it, she had said she was "serving her people, as Aes Sedai are meant to." Rif had been too busy with the recruiting to give it much more thought, but now the flame of his curiosity flared anew.

Rif focused on the bond, discerning her location. While the Aes Sedai bond provided strength, stamina and healing, the Asha'man bond allowed greater range of location and greater empathy. The two woven together allowed Rif to at least find her general location. After a few moments, Rif opened a gateway to that location and hopped through. He fell for a good six feet, the gateway placed to avoid accidents, and cushioned his landing with a funnel of Air. He followed the bond to a small mining camp nestled in the mountains, stopping at the sound of stone shifting and the peaceful feeling of Bode channeling. After several minutes, a large group of miners started cheering.

Rif moved toward Bode, the miners making way for an Asha'man, and stood behind her with his arms crossed, a grin on his face. A huge pile of iron ore stood in front of a much larger cave bored in the mountain face. Bode had once mentioned that she had the Talent to Delve for metals. Rif felt proud that she was using her gift to help her people, living up to the Aes Sedai's title: "Servants of All". Bode finished speaking to one of the miners, who thanked her profusely before walking away, and turned to face him.

"So this is what you meant by 'serving'," Rif said. Bode smirked in reply.

"I didn't just come home to spend time with my family. I came to live up to what it means to be an Aes Sedai. What _I_ believe it means." Rif bowed his head in agreement and took Bode's hand in his own before placing a chaste kiss on the back.

"I'm glad. The scheming and plotting of your elders would have gotten old fast." Bode narrowed her eyes in mock-severity before giggling and bringing Rif in for a kiss. The miners hooted at the display, until Rif seized the Source and wove a ward for silence. The weave dissipated as the couple came up for air.

"Well, isn't that the sweetest thing I ever did see," came a slow, Seanchan drawl. Rif and Bode turned to find a Seanchan woman of medium build, with hawk-like blue eyes and golden yellow hair, shot through with threads of white. The woman was smirking at the display.

Bode cleared her throat. "Rif, this is-"

"Alivia," he finished, "nice to see you again." Rif bowed his head in greeting, to which she gave an Asha'man salute. Bode looked between them, confusion simmering in the bond.

"Alivia spent some time at the Black Tower after the Last Battle," Rif explained. "She said she saw us as her brothers, the legacy of the Lord Dragon. She wanted to see if she belonged."

Bode looked at the former-damane in a new light. "Did you?" Bode asked, genuinely curious.

Alivia shrugged and looked away. "I felt something of a kinship there," she admitted in her Seanchan drawl. Rif was relieved that she had started to speak faster. "I showed the Asha'man the weaves of the Seanchan, allowed them to study them and find out how to duplicate them in their own way." Alivia gave a half-smile. "I know more of destruction even than the so-called 'living weapons'," she said, a touch of pride in her voice.

"Firstly," Rif said, a finger held up, "we know most of those weaves now, so less advantage. Two," he held up another finger, "we know weaves that you don't. Three," a third finger went up, "you had four hundred years to learn, to be taught. I'd say we did pretty well in less than two, starting nearly from scratch." Rif was smiling at the end of his triade. Bode had the feeling they had had discussions like this before.

Alivia was smiling that small half-smile as the glow of _saidar_ enveloped her. A gateway opened and she made for it, Bode and Rif close behind. As they crossed through and into the Emond's Field Traveling grounds, Bode eyed the ex-damane's back. Exactly how well did she know Rif? Bode blushed at the thought, knowing it was ridiculous, but a small part of her felt insecure.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Rif's hand in her own, intertwining their fingers. The smirk he was wearing showed he knew what she was thinking. "You care about me~ …" Rif sing-songed. Bode blushed brighter and smiled in turn. As the pair moved further into the village, children started flocking around them, eager to see an Aes Sedai and Asha'man. Rif had taken to the habit of showing tricks of the Power for the town children, and the glint in his eye showed today was no exception.

The orange glow of _saidin_ , visible only to Bode, bloomed around Rif as the bond stilled with the so-called Void, and he lifted his arm palm down and fingers splayed. One of the children gasped and pointed at a nearby Bowsman, a member of the Emond's Field guards, whose arrows were lifting from his quiver all on their own. The arrows spun slowly in and about in patterns as Rif whistled softly, either for concentration or theatrics. With a sharp whistle and flick of his wrist, the arrows flew to the left and into a nearby tree trunk, forming a perfect likeness of the Dragon's Fang.

Rif smiled at the children clapping and cheering, but another sound intruded on them. Cursing … ? Wit Congar stomped into view from the direction of one of the inns, his face red with anger and eyes glazed with drink. Bode sighed and kept her face smooth. She could already tell this was not going to end well.

"What do you bloody think you're doing, you burning, half-brained Asha'man?!" he shouted at Rif. People around them stopped and stared, some murmuring about Wit's swearing at an Asha'man. The Bowsman whose arrows had been part of Rif's trick moved toward them, likely to stop Wit's continued drunken ranting.

"You flaming monster in your dark coat! You think you can waltz around here with your fancy sword and snatch up our boys and ship them off in your blasted holes in air to Light knows where - probably Shayol Ghul - and think there'll be no naysayers?! You may have everyone else fooled, you may have taken our children with your thrice blasted Power, but not me! Not Wit Congar!"

The Bowsman spoke to Wit gently to calm him, to which Wit punched the man in the face. Bode felt indignation skim the edges of the bond, though the glow of _saidin_ remained. Her own ire was far worse, held back only through force of will.

"Mister Congar," Bode said icily as she stepped in front of Rif, "perhaps you've had too much. I'll call your wife and-"

"You'll do no such thing, Aes Sedai! I'll send this trash out of my home if I have to-" Bode slapped the man before she knew what she was doing, sending him sprawling. Bode clenched her hand, her palm stinging, and glowered at the man. Even Congars and Coplins showed respect to an Aes Sedai, no matter if they had known her since infancy. Wit staggered to his feet, rubbing his jaw, and his eyes blazed with fury.

"How dare you? I'm the Wisdom's husband, girl! I'm-"

"The Wisdom holds no authority over us," Rif said, his voice carrying. He strode past Bode and up to Wit, his demeanor calm and his eyes blazing. "If you have a problem with me or my brothers, or the Aes Sedai, don't hide behind your wife when we snap back." The orange glow surrounded him again and the ground shook like a small earthquake. "And if you raise your voice to Bodewhin Sedai again, the Wisdom can not protect you from me," he added venomously.

Wit laughed hysterically. "You see?" he shouted, "this is what I mean! The so-called Asha'man aren't protectors - they're monsters! They'll destroy the world again if they don't leave!" He backed away and pointed at Rif accusingly. "He'll des-!" The man was cut off by the flash of an arrow speeding by and striking him in the chest. Wit stumbled back as it bounced off of him, the head large and blunted rather than sharp.

More blunted arrows followed, striking Wit to the ground, followed by Bowsmen who wrestled him to the ground and tied his wrists with a small length of chain. They took Wit away toward the town's Hall, his cursing and ranting fading as they went. A final Bowsman, a patch on his shoulder marking him as a lieutenant, apologized for their lack of promptness. Bode assured him there were no hard feelings, Rif doing the same with his easy-going grin back in place.

As they left, Bode's anger simmered to frustration. She looked over at Rif to find his eyes out of focus, simply following her lead. Bode grit her teeth and grabbed his arm, leading him to the Winespring verandah. "Don't listen to him, Rif," she said, quietly but forcefully. "The Congars have always been troublemakers in Emond's Field. If he had been sober, he wouldn't have had the gall to shout like that."

Rif smiled at her in appreciation. "Thanks, Bode," his expression darkened, "but that's not what I was thinking." Bode felt ire simmer through the bond. "I was thinking that if he shouts at you again, I'll show him what happened at Dumai's Wells."

Bode started at the threat, having read the Aes Sedai accounts of the battle. The battle where the Asha'man had first tasted combat; where they had made the earth ripple and scores of men explode like rotten fruit. Bode crossed her arms and glared at Rif, causing him to take a step back in surprise.

"You'll do no such thing, Riften Arason. Not in Emond's Field, not over a petty insult from a drunkard. And I, for one, can take care of myself." Rif swallowed, nervousness showing, and raised his hands to placate her. Bode grinned and entered the inn, a touch smug at having unsettled him so easily.

* * *

Later that evening, after Bode had forgiven him, Rif sat at a table telling stories to children who had come with their parents for dinner, Alivia listening as well. Bode, Lord Perrin and Lady Faile were seated some tables away; the women were discussing how the mining in the Mountains was going while Perrin listened, only occasionally making a comment as far as Rif could see.

Rif was in the middle of recounting the Fight for the Caemlyn Refugees during the Last Battle, where Lord Logain had earned the respect of the people, when a commotion was heard. Daise Congar was dragging her now-sober husband by the ear and dropped him in front of Rif, a steely glint in her eye. She gestured at Rif as if scolding a small boy.

Wit grumbled and rubbed his ear before fixing Rif with an utterly unapologetic glare, mixed with traces of fear. Rif fought down his flaring temper at seeing the man who had so blithely disrespected Bode. Wit glanced at his wife who began tapping her foot, the sound seeming to boom in the now dead-quiet common room.

Wit grumbled again before muttering a half-hearted apology. Rif clenched his fist, but remembered what Bode had said and chose to let it go. He gritted his teeth into a smile and nodded. He then stood and turned to the Wisdom, giving a graceful bow in thanks. Daise nodded and led the way for her husband to follow. As they left, chatter resumed as if nothing had happened.

Rif glared at the door until he felt something tug at the end of his coat. Rif looked down to find a little boy looking up at him with concerned eyes. All of the children were, he realized. Rif smiled and sat back down. "Now where was I?" he asked. All of the children beamed and started saying the last few words he had recounted, as well as requests from stories he had told on previous nights or stories they wanted him to make up. Rif took a sip of water and resumed his story. It was like Androl had once said; children were so adaptable.

As he got back to his story, Rif didn't notice the young man watching him from across the common room. The man with a black fleck in his eye and a warm smile on his face.

* * *

Bode sighed contentedly as she and Rif climbed the stairs to their rooms, fingers intertwined. She would never admit it to his face, but she was proud of Rif. Proud of how he had handled Wit Congar's forced "apology". That was one of the things she liked about him: he could see when he was being foolish and only had to be corrected once. Usually.

As they reached her room, Bode took Rif's face in her hands and kissed him, trying to show him her pride in a way other than words. Rif wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close. She loved it when he did that; it made her feel … cared for. Not that she needed caring for, but it was nice to feel.

Bode speaked as she felt Rif's tongue flick across her lower lip. Rif pulled away, his face burning like a fireplace. He babbled nervous apologies and wonderings about why he even did that and assurances that it wouldn't happen again and … Bode pulled him in and did that right back. She knew what that was; the older Accepted had called it a "Domani Kiss". She had just been surprised; Rif was usually quite gentle.

Rif pulled away gently, both of them breathing hard. A smile crept across his face that was adorably endearing. She kissed him quickly on the cheek, said goodnight, and darted into her room, not caring to hide the wide smile she wore. Bode took a deep breath and giggled to herself. She was glad her mother hadn't been there; Natti would have skinned them both alive.

Bode got ready for bed, plans already forming in her mind of when, and how, to do that again.

* * *

Alivia walked slowly through the trees behind the small house that had been built for herat the outside of town, simply enjoying the stillness of the night. She had to admit, when the Lord Dragon had asked her to come here after the Black Tower, she had been a touch reluctant. Even with the village having grown into a small town and still growing, it would be … boring! This was one of the few times she had been happy to be wrong.

Yes, the town's pace was slow compared to the cities she had seen or the Black Tower, but it was not a boring slowness. It was more of a peaceful, tranquil slowness; one that she had come to appreciate. Alivia looked down into a pool that was fed by the river, fireflies flickering around the surface of the water. She smiled at the tranquil scene.

Alivia stiffened as she felt a presence behind her. She embraced the Source and, like a flash, wove Fire and Wind into a weave of destruction. Damane didn't name their weaves, but the Asha'man had called it Bellow's Flames. The fire, enhanced by Wind, seared in an arc through a handful of trees. The trunks collapsed under their destroyed bodies, sparks flying from the spontaneous fires. And faster than the flames had begun, they were snuffed out.

"You missed." Alivia hurled another attack in the direction of that voice. The weave hurtled toward a young man … and disappeared. Alivia gasped at what she had almost done. Se had nearly murdered a man, and not just any man. She was one of the few to know the Lord Dragon was alive and well … and she had tried to kill him.

A soft light, like moonbeams, filled the clearing to reveal Rand al'Thor. Alivia had long gotten used to the Lord Dragons new form. Appearance was meaningless; it only coated the mind within. Alivia released the source and opened her mouth to apologize for her recklessness. Rand lifted a hand to stop her.

"Peace, Alivia. It was an accident. I should have announced my presence." Alivia released a breath and smiled at the man who had saved her from the Seanchan. Rand stood before her and sat, a boulder rising from the earth for him to rest on. One rose for Alivia as well and she sat.

Rand breathed in and sighed, his eyes close as if in meditation. Alivia kept her eyes trained on him, waiting for the reason he had come to her. Last time he had requested—not ordered, simply requested—that she come to the Two Rivers. Before that, he had suggested she spend some time at the Black Tower. Both had been what she needed at the time, though how he had known she felt would always remain a mystery.

After several minutes, Rand stirred with a chuckle. "Forgive an old man his wanderings, Alivia," he said good-naturedly. Alivia shrugged in response. She had accepted that he and the so-called Lews Therin had become one-and-the-same, but it was still odd to have such a young man call himself old. Of course, she herself was about four hundred years old, so who was she to judge.

Rand shifted in his seat and pulled out his pipe, which lit on its own. He smoked it for a moment before addressing her. "I have a favor to ask of you, Alivia," he said, his tone sounding as if he were unsure she would accept.

"Anything, my Lord," she answered without thinking. Rand laughed and shook his pipe, leaving it clean as a whistle and placed it back in his ragged, brown coat.

"I would ask that you accompany the love birds," he said, "Bodewhin and Riften." Alivia's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Of all the things she had expected, that was not it. Accompany them? Like she once had him?

"I feel that those two are important to the Pattern, Alivia," he explained. "Hey can usher in an example of cooperation for the Black and White Towers to strive for, a unity that will benefit all peoples, not just the Westlands. But to do this, they will need help and support. And I can think of no one better suited to that role than yourself."

Alivia considered his request. She knew the boy rather well; he had been friendly to her during her time at the Black Tower. In some ways, he reminded her of the man sitting before her. And she had grown to like the girl over the past few days, to respect her drive to serve those supposedly beneath her, to show that Aes Sedai were to be equals of the common man, not their puppet masters.

Rand smiled. "And who knows? Perhaps they can help you learn what you wish to do with your life."

Alivia smiled as she reached a decision. "I will follow them, my Lord. As I once did you."

 **Bizzle: Thanks for your approval. Coincidentally, I had already planned for Rand to appear here. Weird, huh? However, Rand will not take a central role in this fic. He'll largely act as a guide to push Rif and bode along the best path. Hope you enjoy.**

 **Everyone else, read and review. I love those things; they keep me motivated. People/places you wish to see? I see what I can do.**


	13. Chapter 12

**Sorry about the long wait, guys. Vacationing on the Caribbean doesn't have much wifi. Anyway, on with the story!**

 **Chapter Twelve**

Bode watched from the Winespring verandah, fresh from a three-hour goodbye to her family, as Rif spoke to a farmer on the village Green haggling a price for the man's small cart; knowing he would probably decide on a fair price, then slip a gold coin into the man's pocket as they shook on it. As the men seemed to come to an agreement, Bode smiled as she saw him do just that. The farmer would check his pockets to find a three-day's wage in his coat.

That done, Rif returned to the inn and hefted their bags, winking at Bode as he did so. Bode giggled and watched as he moved their bags. She had offered to arrange a stable boy to do so, but Rif had refused. He claimed he wanted to "remember what it was like to work for a living". She had the distinct feeling he just wanted to show off to her.

Bode approached as Rif loaded the last bag and dusted his hands. "Tired, Rif?" she asked innocently. Rif shrugged with a blush. Bode chuckled and drew his arms around her, simply enjoying the feeling of him holding her. The couple sprung apart at the sound of another bag falling into the cart. Both were surprised to find Alivia, dressed for travel, leaning against the cart as if she hadn't a care in the world.

"Alivia?" Rif asked. She looked at him levelly. "What are you doing?" he finished awkwardly. Alivia smiled as if it were the most obvious thing.

"I'm coming with you, of course," she said brightly. Bode searched Alivia's expression for any form of levity, a skill she had mastered growing up with Mat. She saw none, only honesty. Alivia sighed and straightened, looking at both of them frankly.

"While I have no doubt that you can take care of yourselves, I still wish to come, perhaps as a guard of sorts. I have spent a fair amount of my freedom from that accursed leash accompanying the Lord Dragon, adventures every other day. Quite frankly, I wouldn't mind that again. And I have a good feeling you two will attract _lots_ of adventures." Alivia leaned back against the cart, the picture of serenity.

Bode looked to Rif and their eyes met. A flurry of emotions flowed up and down the bond, a form of debate they had become quite skilled at. After a few moments, a discussion that would have taken far longer out loud, they came to a decision. "We would love to have you," Bode said. She was a touch disappointed it wouldn't just be she and Rif, but where they were going, it would not matter.

The corner of Rif's mouth quirked up as if her were resisting the urge to smile. "If you don't mind, Bode, I would like to make something of a side trip before we go," he said. Bode's eyebrow rose, but she nodded. The orange glow if _saidin_ surrounded Rif as he wove a gateway to parts unknown.

The glow of _saidar_ surrounded Alivia as she pushed the cart along on flows of Wind. She pushed the cart through and quickly followed. Rif took her hand and led her through.

Bode gazed over the shattered mountains that permeated the fields before her as the gateway closed. The fields had been scorched with utter finality, as if burned by a living forest fire. "It's the only way we could destroy all of the bodies, make sure it didn't poison the wilderness on every side," Rif whispered.

"Welcome, ladies," Rif said much louder, "to the Field of Merrilor!"

As Bode looked upon the field before her, she could almost see the events that had occurred, that she had read about. The Trollocs swarming the Heights, Demandred raining destruction and calling for the Dragon, the epic battle between Egwene and Taim, Lan Mandragoran finishing Demandred.

"A lot to take in, isn't it?" Rif asked. Bode looked at Rif, noting the distant cast to his gaze. He had been here during the fighting, had fought in the Last Battle. He probably remembered countless horrors from it all. Bode took his hand and squeezed it, breaking him from his remembrance. He smiled at Bode and squeezed back.

"Why are we here?" Alivia asked, breaking the moment. The distant look in Rif's eyes was replaced by a spark of enthusiasm.

"We're here to find some things that were lost in the Battle, things that belong where they can be used. And where they won't be found by those with … less-than-noble goals."

"What are these 'things?" Bode asked wryly. She tried to humor Rif's flair for the theatrical. He turned to look at them both.

"Vora's Rod and Sakarnen, Demandred's Scepter," he answered.

* * *

Alivia followed after Riften and Bodewhin at a sedate pace, easily keeping up with the girl's slow tread. Rif had explained that the idea had actually come to him some time ago; he just hadn't seriously considered it until the day before.

When Riften had announced his plan, Bodewhin had pointed out that the Asha'man had spent considerable effort in trying to locate the Scepter for use at the Black Tower, as well as locating the Fluted Rod as a bargaining chip towards the White Tower. Despite weeks of work, they had reportedly found nothing.

Rif had countered with the fact that no Asha'man had discovered a Talent for Delving for metals. Bode, on the other hand, had such a Talent. He further explained that forming a circle would give Bode much more raw strength to locate the _sa'angreal_ , which were apparently somewhere within the collapsed Heights. He had reasoned that the _sa'angreal_ were very likely undamaged due to the sturdiness of Power-forged objects.

Bode had then pointed out that a circle formed of just the two of them would have to have him in control, negating the point. She didn't oppose the idea of trying; she just wanted to make sure Rif had thought this venture out. Rif had agreed with her point and simply motioned to Alivia. With her, not only would they allow control of the circle to remain in Bode's hands, but they could use Alivia's considerable strength to search longer and more efficiently. After receiving Alivia's approval, they had begun their work.

Alivia looked up from the coin she had been practicing at flipping along her knuckles—she couldn't get it down quite yet—and observed the strands of the Power flowing from Bodewhin and into the ground. Alivia had a Talent for being able to replicate weaves after seeing them only once, but this was something else. This was another Talent entirely. A brief thought about how valuable a damane Bodewhin would have been flashed through her mind before she stomped it into oblivion. Bodewhin would _never_ be subjected to that! Not if Alivia had any say in the matter. Or Riften, she considered. He would be even more dangerous than the ex-damane in that situation.

Bodewhin had been leading them along the broken paths of the Heights for a couple of hours, slowly working their way around the mountain. In many places Alivia hadn't even been able to practice due to the treacherous footing. At one point Bodewhin had had to catch Riften in a flow of Air after a chunk of the path had fallen away with him on it. They had slowed down even more after that.

In addition to fatigue from channeling, Alivia felt like she was itching all over her skin due to someone else controlling her use of the Power for so long. It reminded her too much of the _a'dam_ , though she had to admit that simply having her Power used was still far better than being _forced_ to channel. _Besides_ , she thought, _Bodewhin is barely using any of my potential Power. This is like a tiny stream_.

As if responding to the thought, Bodewhin halted in her tracks. She knelt and placed her hand on the ground, thickening the strands of Power running through the Heights. Bode stood and shot forward at a sprint, leaving the stunned Riften and Alivia in the dust. They were right behind her a moment later. Bodewhin seemed to be using flows of Earth to strengthen the path, to make their mad dash safer.

After almost a solid quarter hour, Bodewhin halted before a wall of fallen boulders and heaps of gravel. "I feel something in there," she pointed to the right of the mass's center. "Something long and thin, made of metal. Then something smaller and thinner, made of … something that isn't stone or metal. Both are covered in masses of crystals."

Riften snapped his fingers in triumph. "That sounds exactly like the remnants of the Battle of Leaders," he exclaimed. Bodewhin looked at him in curiosity, to which Riften blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's what I call the final battle between the Amyrlin al'Vere and _M'Hael_ Taim," he explained, Taim's title spat out as if it had offended him. "With Lady al'Vere's sacrifice, I thought that her final fight deserved some kind of ... noble title." Bodewhin smiled at him and increased her drawing on the Power. Alivia almost stumbled at her sudden spurt in flow, but caught herself.

The stones and dirt began to slowly shift, revealing glittering shards of crystal within. The shifting grew faster, boulders crumbling into gravel and flowing to the side like a divided river. Alivia began to pant with the strain of the Power flowing through her. A quick glance noted that Riften was not much better. The ex-damane could only guess what Bodewhin herself felt like.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity and was quite probably at least an hour, Bodewhin released the Source, dissolving the circle in the process. Alivia stumbled up to watch as Bodewhin reached into the gravel, her hands trembling with fatigue, to produce two long, thin artifacts.

One was the length of Bodewhin's forearm and fluted, made of something that looked like bone or ivory, and yet like neither. The other was longer and looked like a scepter capped with an hourglass-shape, all made of what appeared to be gold. Bodewhin clutched the rods to her chest as Rif wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her to him, as if he could absorb her fatigue with sheer affection.

Alivia felt a quick pang of jealousy at the display, which she quickly dismissed. She didn't begrudge the two their happiness; quite the opposite, she thought they looked … cute together, despite her limited experience. Alivia simply wished to experience what they were feeling, a fate she had been denied as a damane.

Riften looked up and a gateway appeared, leading to their campsite. Apparently he had become familiar with the area enough to make a short gateway. Rif let Alivia pass first, then guided Bode through—or more accurately, half-carried her. Alivia had a feeling that the only reason he was only _half_ -carrying her was because she was too proud to be carried like a bride.

Alivia noted the sun beginning to descend toward the horizon, estimating that it was something around five hours after midday. Alivia herself was tired and achey and she highly doubted that the others were in better condition. In fact, considering they were weaker than her in the Power, they were probably worse off. Alivia shuddered at the thought.

"Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow to move on," she advised. "We are all tired and hungry. We missed lunch, after all." She turned to look at her younger—far younger—companions. She took their exhausted, dead-eyed stares as agreement and began gathering sticks and dried wood for a fire.

* * *

Bode listened to the trill of crickets as she tried to fall asleep. The fire was burning low and Alivia was splayed out on her bedroll, lightly snoring. Rif's bedroll was empty. Bode slowly rose and looked around, finally spotting him at the edge of the camp. His back was turned and uncovered, and he seemed to be moving his arms quickly. He had mentioned setting various traps around the camp to keep away animals just before she retired; what could he be doing?

A wicked idea sprang to mind and she slowly rose from her bedroll, sneaking over to him. She felt through the bond that his attention was solely on whatever he was doing; he wouldn't feel her approach. She reached for either side of his head, intending to cover his eyes and make him jump. She prepared to lunge—"Don't even think about it," Rif said. Bode started at his words. How had he known?

"Firstly," he answered her unasked question, "I'm not near as distracted as you think. Second, you sneak around like a galloping horse." She could hear the smug amusement in his voice and plopped down next to him with a huff. Thoughts of revenge spawned another idea and she quickly masked the bond.

"What're you-" Rif stiffened as Bode leaned over and kissed the side of his neck. She peppered kisses along his neck and jawline, Rif growing more rigid with every touch of her lips. Bode, remembering the claimed exploits of the Accepted she had trained with, took his earlobe between her teeth.

Rif almost jerked away, his eyes wide like a caught animal. "Bode, I-" She cut him off with a deep kiss. She felt Rif melt into the contact and pull her into his lap. Bode gasped at the forward action, then shrugged when she considered what had led to it. Bode deepened the kiss, which then broke into a flurry of quick pecks. Both were giggling like mad and Bode felt like her face was on fire.

"Well now, how sweet." Bode yelped as Rif shot to his feet, holding Bode in place through sheer instinct. Alivia was smiling wickedly at the sight of them in an even more compromising position, with Bode's legs wrapped around Rif's waist and his arms around her own. Rif cleared his throat and let her down, while Bode worked to straighten her hair.

"Look," the ex-damane said, "I don't mind if you two—how did Min put it?—'fool around', but I would really like to get some sleep tonight. Perhaps when we get to the palace you can resume … this." She smirked as she returned to her bedroll and promptly resumed snoring.

Bode swallowed thickly and glanced at Rif, the same time he glanced at her. Both quickly looked away. "I think … I'll go do that …" Rif said absently. Before he went, he placed something into Bode's hand, then buried himself in his blanket and turned over. Bode returned to her own bedroll and examined what he had given her in the low firelight.

It appeared to be a bracelet made from braided cord formed by strands of woven grass and peppered with small, white flowers. She could almost feel the Keeping he had placed on it, keeping the blades a vibrant green and the flowers white as fresh snow. Bode sighed at the beauty of the simple gift. She looked over at Rif, who was turned away from her and his blankets rising and falling in an even rhythm. She smiled and slipped on the bracelet, then closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Her dreams were filled with Riften, shirtless and adventurous. She didn't remember them the next morning, but they still left a warm comfort when she woke up. Perhaps related and perhaps not, she wasn't achy when she awoke.

 **Nerdfighter1309: I hope this doesn't disappoint!**

 **Guest: appreciate the encouragement, but I don't know much about Shara. I may put it in, but don't hold your breath for it. Any other places/people?**

 **Remember, guys: Review, Follow, Favorite! It gives me the motivation to resist other ideas and focus on this one.**


	14. Chapter 13

**Sorry about the late update, folks. Real life gets in the way. On with the show!**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Rif squared his shoulders and focused his mind, wrapped in the Void, and flowed through a series of punches and strikes that was part of the Aiel fighting style that all members of the Black Tower were taught. He had learned long ago, from both the Huntsmen and the Asha'man, that being a warrior was much like honing a blade; one must keep their skills sharp.

While part of Rif's mind flowed through the motions with practiced grace, the other considered his situation. He, Bode, and Alivia were waiting in a quite comfortable dining room for the Queen of Andor, Elayne Sedai, to arrive. Bode sat still as a quiet pond with a book in her hand while Alivia leaned against a wall and practiced her flip-the-coin-across-her-knuckles trick.

Along with them, as either an honor guard or security detail, were ten members of the Queen's guard, five men and five women who stood still as statues, and three members of the mysterious Kin, marked by the red sashes looped over their shoulders. The three women appeared impassive, but every so often they would send a calculating glance at Alivia, as if it were some minor crime that she were not either an Aes Sedai or one of their own.

Rif had read over Amyrlin Egwene's plans for the Kin during his time at the White Tower, as well as Queen Elayne's arrangement with them. As far as he knew, no Aes Sedai had as of yet retired to the Kin to live out their potential lifespans, but many were laying plans to streamline the process when they became ready. The Kin supposedly lived in a large manor near the Caemlyn Palace, which had been totally refurbished from the destruction of the Trolloc invasion, with aide from the group itself.

When the trio had arrived at the totally rebuilt Caemlyn Palace that evening, a slightly plump woman named Reene Harfor with grey hair in a bun, dressed in a red-and-white dress that seemed freshly cleaned had formally greeted them with their titles, Asha'man, Aes Sedai, and Lady Alivia. After the Last Battle, Queen Elayne had granted Alivia an informal title to honor her service to the Lord Dragon. They had been informed that the queen had been busy at the moment and escorted to the dining room, in which they had stayed for the past hour.

Rif didn't feel he had a right to tell a queen how to do her job, especially the woman who had been his own queen, but it seemed a little negligent to treat a fellow Aes Sedai and two veterans of the Last Battle in such a way.

As Rif finished a particularly long series of motions, the twin doors opened to reveal Mistress Harfor, who announced the Queen. As Queen Elayne entered, Rif had to consciously keep his jaw from dropping. The Queen was quite a beauty, with red-gold hair, ivory skin, and vivid blue eyes. The Asha'man had to admit: the Lord Dragon had had good taste. Rif winced and hoped that Bode would ignore that thought. A flash of irritation through the bond proved otherwise.

As Bode greeted the queen, Rif shared a glance with Alivia, who merely shrugged. Rif took his turn and gave a small bow with the Asha'man salute to the queen. He had to suppress a momentary surge of fealty; he was an Asha'man of the Black Tower and no longer a true citizen of Andor. This woman held no authority over him. Still, being told that for a few years did not shake off that lingering loyalty to the Andoran Crown.

After his greeting, and a brief nod to Alivia, Elayne Sedai sat at the head of the dining table, with Bode on her right and Alivia on her left. Rif took a seat next to Bode. Elayne Sedai sat and chatted with Bode, leaving Rif and Alivia to entertain themselves. Rif decided to reflect on that morning.

The trio had delivered the Rod and Scepter to the Black Tower before they entered Caemlyn, much to the surprise of the Telamons. Logain had separated Sakarnen's rod and cap and hidden away the parts to be safe, while the Vora's Rod had been delivered to the White Tower as a sign of good faith.

After, Narishma had taken Rif to the side to teach him a few weaves reserved for the Asha'man; he called them the Dragon's Claws. Rif had heard several rumors of these weaves in the time after the Last Battle, said to have been learned in the midst of battle from watching the Lord Dragon himself. It had taken a few tries, but Rif had picked them up with the surety of a true warrior. Rif was thankful for the _angreal_ in his paralis-net; the weaves were heavily composed of Earth and Fire, his weakest Powers. How typical.

After his lesson, Alivia had taken an interest in a relatively new section of Shara'man, a collection of seven forges working on some of the most intricate and ornately-crafted armor Rif had ever seen, each piece a work of utmost art. And more than that, it had been _thin_. Thin enough that a single strike from any weapon would utterly destroy it; light enough to barely be felt when worn. It had seemed utterly ludicrous, but what he had seen next had made it all make sense.

It seemed that some of the asha'man had discovered the weave to create the indestructible _cuendillar_ and over fifty asha'man with the Talent to do so had been found, a dozen of which could do it at speeds rivaling or even exceeding Bode. Apparently, Neald had devised a new way to generate funds for the Black Tower. The armor was crafted by commission and, upon completion, was turned to _cuendillar_ and sold at prices that could buy a small town. Shield faces, attached to wood bases with nails, were even more expensive.

The most amazing thing, however, was that the idea worked! Lords and monarchs from across the land had commissioned pieces of _cuendillar_ armor. Logain himself had set a limit on one piece per person, but that had barely diminished the demand. The Seanchan Empire had commissioned enough for a small army under the names of their "Blood" for the war across the ocean to reclaim their homeland. Supposedly, an entire new fighting style was rising amongst richer nobility that revolved around an unbreakable vambrace.

Needless to say, the practice had poured gold into the Shara'man and accelerated the building of the town and the actual Black Tower itself. A Dedicated who had been a mason in his previous life had estimated that the Tower would be completed in less than a decade. Rif had been overjoyed to hear that. Bode had had mixed feelings about it all.

Rif shook himself back to the present, honing in on Bode's conversation with the queen out of sheer habit. Oddly enough, his thoughts were the basis of their discussion. Bode was explaining what she knew of the practice to a tight-lipped Elayne Sedai, who had apparently heard rumors and attempted to slow the process in Andor. She even went so far as to say it was a foolish use of the One Power.

"If I recall correctly," Rif interrupted, "the rebel Aes Sedai used _cuendillar_ to fund their assault on the White Tower. They flooded the market with bowls, cups, plates and the like. How are pieces of armor any different?"

Both women were speechless at his words. Rif felt irritation flow through the bond, tinged with respect for his argument. Elayne Sedai's mouth twitched in a small smile. "Well spoken, Asha'man," she said.

Rif smiled before a few stray thoughts took root in his mind. That happened sometimes; a few stray thoughts would come together into a workable notion, as they had with his plan to find the _sa'angreal_. Another such idea blossomed.

"Queen Elayne, if I may ask a question?" The queen nodded for him to proceed. "I've heard that you have the Talent to create _ter'angreal_. Is that true?" She nodded again. Rif felt confusion coming from Bode, along with … anticipation? Rif briefly wondered at that, then addressed the queen.

"Would it be possible," Rif asked, "to create a _ter'angreal_ that could open a gateway to a predetermined location simply by touching it with a flow of Spirit?"

Elayne Sedai's eyebrows shot up at the question. "Would you care to elaborate, Asha'man Arason?" she asked.

Rif considered his question; he himself hadn't thought it all the way out yet either. He thought of accounts of the _ter'angreal_ doorways that led to the Snakes and Foxes, the ones that had been used by Mat Cauthon. Maybe that was it!

"Imagine an archway," Rif said, " made of black stone, six feet tall and wide enough for three men to walk through. Next to it is an identical archway made of white stone. Touch the white archway with a flow of Spirit and a gateway forms inside, leading from the Black Tower to the White Tower. Through the Black archway comes a line of people into Shara'man; through the White, a line of people to Tar Valon." He paused to let it sink in. Elayne Sedai narrowed her eyes at the Asha'man.

"What would the purpose of these 'archways' be? We can already make gateways wherever we wish, and do so to Travel between the Towers."

Rif snapped his fingers, the queen having asked the question he was hoping for. "Gateways themselves are dangerous, even in Traveling grounds. You can never be sure just where they open, and that can be dangerous. Besides which, most Aes Sedai and asha'man are not strong enough to create a gateway on their own. Men cannot link for themselves, and even women in a circle must have a certain high strength to make one at all. These archways would allow easier Travel between the Towers for those without the strength to make their own gateways, free the channelers assigned to the Traveling grounds for other duties, and would make travel safer overall."

Rif was warming to the idea. "It wouldn't even have to be just from one Tower to the other. Archways could be made that connected all the great cities of the Westlands. You could even charge a small fee for their use. You could-" A hand on his shoulder stopped his speech. Bode had her mouth covered to keep from laughing; Rif could feel her amusement through the bond. Even the queen's mouth was twitching, her cheeks turning red from holding it in. Rif felt himself blush.

"Apologies, Queen Elayne Sedai. I get carried away." Elayne Sedai waved away his apologies.

"No need for apologies, Riften. It is an excellent idea." She gave him a genuine smile. "And please, just call me Elayne." She leaned toward Bode and whispered something in her ear, to which Bode smiled as well. A surge of pride flowed through the bond.

After dinner had been served and finished, as well as a good hour of just talking, the queen stood with the explanation that she must see to her children. Mistress Harfor returned to show them to their rooms. Taking note of Mistress Harfor'e eye on them, Rif settled for a kiss to Bode's cheek, which she returned.

"Good night, Bode," he whispered.

"Good night, Rif," and she closed the door.

* * *

 _Rif grit his teeth to strangle the cries of fear rising in his throat; or rather, fear that whirled around the edge of the Void, threatening to shatter it and him as well._ Saidin _raged through him, but it seemed a mockery compared to the maelstrom of the Power raining from the Heights. Rif shook it off and glanced past the boulder he had used to take cover._

 _A collection of Sharan channelers had taken hold of a cliff; Asha'man al'Kerr and a team of Dedicated had been sent to stop them. Rif was part of that mission._ Some part of Rif knew this was just a dream, a memory-dream, but as always he could only act as he had.

 _Rif focused and wove strands of Wind together into a weave of his own creation. He darted from cover and ran, flicking his wrist at the cliff face. A blade of Air, thick as a sword blade and sharper than a razor, swung down and split the cliff down the middle._ Rif knew what was coming, but he couldn't change it. _A stray weave of Fire struck Rif's shoulder, shattering the Void and ripping a wail from the boy._

 _One of the Dedicated pulled him to cover and began working on Healing the wound. Rif focused on his breathing as the feverish warmth from the Healing spread across his upper body. Rif stood and worked his shoulder, making sure it felt right. He didn't know this Dedicated's name, but he knew the man was a good Healer. The wound was Healed, but the shock would remain. Rif grit his teeth again and shook it off. They had a Battle to win._

 _Just as he had the thought, an explosion ripped through the air ..._

* * *

Bode jolted up, her heart pounding. Fear coursed through the bond, enough to wake her. It came in waves, waves of terror interspersed within a current of dread. Bode threw off her sheets and rushed to Rif's room. What was happening? Was he being attacked? She threw open the door to his room.

Rif was twisting and turning in his bed, the sheets soaked with sweat, mumbling and groaning, his breathing labored as if he were in pain. Bode knelt by her Warder and Delved him, searching for injuries. He was a touch feverish, but otherwise perfectly healthy. Bode suppressed a shriek as a particularly strong wave of panic washed into her.

Bode bit her lip, thinking furiously. She was good at Healing, but this was something different. She couldn't help him with the Power. An idea formed and she took hold of it, desperate to help the man she loved. She swallowed thickly, wiping the tears from her eyes, and began to softly sing.

* * *

 _Rif shouted as he summoned lightning from the stormclouds above the battlefield, clusters of Trollocs flying into the air in pieces across their lines. There were eight of them, all Dedicated, trying to hold back this line while the Cairhienin soldiers regrouped. The ranks of asha'man were too thin, there were too many places they needed to be!_

 _The Trollocs regrouped under the lashes of the Myrddraal and charged again. They were getting far too close. "Bloodbath!" shouted Devin Mattis, the man they had chosen to lead their group. Rif and all the others wove threads of Water, Air, Fire, and Spirit into the weave that decided your raising to the sword pin. The weaves flashed forward like serpents and spread like arcs of lightning, the front rank of Trollocs exploding like rotten fruit. Eight more times they lashed out with the Bloodbath weave to relieve some pressure._

 _Rif stumbled as a wave of fatigue rolled over him. At full rest, that weave was simple and cost next to nothing. But he was far from well-rested. And the Shadowspawn, the Sharans, the Dreadlords—they just kept coming._ Rif knew deep inside how this skirmish would end. A reinforcement of Asha'man would arrive to rain down lightning, the Cairhienin would regroup and charge to break the lines, the Myrddraal would be decapitated, leaving the Trollocs leaderless and they would flee. But that wouldn't come for a good while.

 _Rif panted as he and the others launched tongues of Fire at the Trollocs. It was like peppering rabid dogs with pebbles—annoying, but not debilitating. Rif forced himself to focus. Despair was the enemy as much as the Shadowspawn. It was hard, but he had to keep going._

 _As he prepared another salvo of lightning, something brushed against his consciousness. Rif shook it off, fear brushing the Void, thinking it was Compulsion. He kept on, but the … thing … stayed, slowly getting stronger. It was … soothing. It seemed to ever-so-slightly wash away his fatigue. Eventually, he realized what it was: someone was singing. Someone a part of him knew._

 _Rif's mind began to clear as the words of a lullaby his mother had sung to him focused his mind. A thought struck him and he acted on it. Rif ripped lightning from the clouds, the ever-present stormclouds, and focused the bolts at the Fades, destroying them among the clusters of Trollocs. A weave came to mind—one he couldn't have known yet—and he looked backward to find a river. Had that been there before? It didn't matter._

 _Rif wove Water and Air in a complex net, lifting the river and shaping it. Behind Rif formed a towering dragon-shaped wave. A quick voice-amplifying weave and Rif sent a deep roar across the battlefield. The trollocs turned and fled as Rif sent the wave crashing down, crushing the army under its weight. Rif felt the world fade away into darkness. Soothing darkness, then a spark of light that grew into warmth and comfort …_

* * *

Rif breathed deeply as he woke from his nightmares. That happened sometimes, memories of the Last Battle relived over and over. Rif sighed and nuzzled into the pillow he had wrapped his arms around. A very firm pillow … that also wrapped around his shoulders? Rif's eyes eased open and he found his face resting on something incredibly soft. He glanced up to find Bode fast asleep, her chin resting on his head. That meant his face … was resting on her bosom.

Rif felt a blush flare up from his hairline to his collarbone. He considered moving, taking the floor to get out of this compromising position. But Bode looked so peaceful. And she was so warm, and soft. Maybe it wouldn't hurt … just this once.

Rif relaxed into Bode's embrace and felt himself drift off. Just this once …

 **Guest: Sakarnen** ** _was_** **stuck in the crystals. Egwene was mentioned as having a Talent to extract metals from the Earth. Since she and Bode shared the Talent for** ** _cuendillar_** **in-canon, it's not much of a stretch to think she has at least some of that Talent as well. The Asha'man didn't do this because they are still learning about the various Talents, though I would assume this Talent, rare among women, would be more common among men.**

 **Nerdfighter1309: Min is coming up sooner than you think. I never intended to leave her out of this. She and Mat will appear in the upcoming Seanchan chapters. How will that turn out? Wait and see. It will be important.**


	15. Chapter 14

**Hey, guys! on with the chapter!**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

At breakfast, Bode found herself looking to the side of the table yet again, her gaze resting on Rif. He seemed … utterly normal. As if last night hadn't happened. Then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and he looked away with a blush and an awkward smile. Well, perhaps not entirely normal. Bode could feel him suppressing the bond, as if he were ashamed of himself.

Which of course, was utterly ridiculous! They had done nothing except sleep toge—in the same bed! And she had been the one to join him only to ease his nightmares. There was nothing wrong or strange about that. Or the fact they they had risen together and seen each other only in underclothes. Bode gave a silent chuckle; if only her jumbled emotions and shaking hands would agree. Her mind knew it was true, but old habits died hard and they were still unmarr—Bode nipped that thought in the bud before it could make her blush brighter.

Bode clenched flexed her hand, reverting to Aes Sedai training in calmness, before clearing her throat. "How do you feel, Rif?" she asked. Bode scolded herself for such a formulaic question. And a part of her was depressed at having to ask. The bond should tell her that, and would if he weren't suppressing it.

Rif stiffened at the question, then sighed and released his hold on the bond, allowing his feelings to pass through. Among them she felt no fear, nothing like what she had felt last night. All she felt from him was confusion, touched by uncertainty. "I don't know," he answered, his honesty plain even without the bond.

Without thinking, Bode placed her hand on his, letting him know she didn't blame him for anything. He looked at their hands and then to her, and smiled that warm smile that only Riften could smile, and the awkwardness disappeared. He turned his hand palm-up to interlace their fingers. "Thank you, Bode. For last night."

Bode raised an eyebrow in question, to which he chuckled. "I heard you singing, in my dream. It … it gave me the strength to change it. To change the nightmare and wake up. And-" His face went red again and she felt panic and embarrassment through the bond, though it was only a flash. Bode leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"I know what you're thinking of," Bode whispered. "It's okay. I … kind of liked it." She meant every word. Rif turned to regard her with wide eyes. Then he smiled and leant forward until their foreheads touched. Bode closed her eyes, reveling in their closeness.

At least until a decidedly feminine voice interrupted. "Alivia was right—that is the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

Bode shot away from Rif and he from her as Elayne entered the dining chamber, wearing a wide smirk. Is there no such thing as privacy? Bode thought, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. She felt Rif wrap himself in the Void, likely due to similar thoughts. The rest of the meal was passed in silence, punctuated by the queen's knowing smirk.

* * *

Rif lifted his arm to block a jab from his opponent and, with reflexes honed over his whole lifetime, twisted his arm to grab the man's wrist and yank him forward into his opposite hand, curled into a fist. The member of the Queen's Guard fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The Guards around them went silent, as if some switch had turned their voices off.

Rif breathed deep to steady his nerves and exhaled. Rif knelt next to the man, who had graciously agreed to spar with him, and seized the Source. Rif began weaving threads of all five Powers into the intricate Healing weaves that Damer Flinn had developed. Rif would never say he was the best at this, but he had to admit he wasn't bad either. Cuts and bruises began to fade and the man opened his eyes. He flexed his jaw and presumably found no pain, then smiled and took Rif's proffered hand. The guard nodded and left to rejoin his comrades while Rif returned to the table that held his belongings.

As he passed, a servant dressed in the red livery of the palace passed him a towel to wipe himself down. Rif gave the man what he hoped was a grateful smile. He had been raised among serving maids who had been the butt of abuse on more than one occasion because they were meant to serve and forbidden to fight back. He despised such an attitude and was determined to treat servers with the respect they deserved.

Rif finished toweling himself off and reclaimed his shirt and coat. After making sure they were orderly and belting on his sword, he left to find Bode. She had met with the leader of the Kin, one Sumeko Karistovan, to discuss arranging a mentor for the Kinswomen; a teacher from the White Tower.

Rif grinned at the memory of the numerous discussions they had had in the White Tower over the good the Kin could do in the world. While often weak, they were even more often skilled in weaving. In addition to acting as a kind of retirement for Aes Sedai, Bode believed they could act as a sort of "everyman" channelers, living within the world and helping the people themselves in a far more day-today and intimate way than the Aes Sedai. She had even developed preliminary plans to establish a lesser Knitting Circle in every major city in Andor, not just Caemlyn. That was actually one of the things she had wished to speak to Sumeko about.

Rif had his own questions to ask. He was interested in broaching the idea of a similar arrangement for the Black Tower; a place where after so many years, perhaps a couple of centuries, asha'man could retire. Granted, it would be quite some time before that even began to be necessary, but it was like a mason who had been a soldier at the Black Tower often said. "Strong foundations lead to enduring buildings."

These thoughts, drifting through Rif's head like an ambling river, were shattered by a flare of fear from the bond. Rif locked on to Bode's location, she was quite close, and bolted, seizing the Source and preparing Arrows of Fire. He found the room Bode was in and kicked the door down, subtlety be burned!

But upon entering, he was met with four icy stares. The kind of stares that only Aes Sedai could give; stares that made you want to crawl into a hole until they said you could leave. At least, for anyone else. For Rif or any other Asha'man, it simply stopped one in their tracks and made them hesitate. It took Rif all of three seconds to determine that he had misread the burst of fear.

Bode regarded Rif with a small smile, as if he were a child that had done something wrong yet mildly funny. Rif eased his sword back into its sheath—he didn't remember half-drawing it—and dispelled his flows, letting saidin go. Rif cleared his throat and stood straight, attempting to salvage what little dignity he could.

"Apologies, ladies. I thought I felt that Bode was … " he tried to come up with an inoffensive word, "endangered. I seem to have been wrong. But, if you don't mind, I think I'll stay." Rif sat in a chair and tried to remain inconspicuous.

All four icy stares stayed with him for a moment longer, then resumed talking. As soon as they did so, Rif studied them all, only half-listening to the conversation. Bode and Elayne were here, but that was to be expected of the queen of the castle and his own Aes Sedai.

Sitting with them was a stout woman with a round, plump face framed by glossy black hair. Her dress was wrapped with a long red belt, marking her as an Ebou Dari Wise Woman; at least according to the Altarans who had joined the Black Tower. This must be Sumeko, the Eldest of the Kin.

Sitting next to Elayne was a tall, heavily pregnant woman with long reddish hair wrapped in a scarf. She had tanned skin and blue-green eyes, and was dressed in the robes of an Aiel Wise One, at least based on the descriptions given by tutors from the Black Tower. A cane sat by the woman's chair, which seemed odd for a woman so young, only a few years older than himself.

Finally, next to the Wise One sat a fifth woman that he had not seen before. At least, he realized it was a woman after a second look; a look that made him was to grimace. Rif had always tried to look past women's appearances, as his mother had taught him, but it was difficult for a woman who seemed so unpleasant. She was fat, with pale crossing eyes and a bulbous hooked nose; overall, she was difficult to look at. Oddly, she kept her eyes on the Wise One, but not like a guard or escort. More like a dog, waiting for the slightest order from its adored master.

Out of nowhere, as often happened with him, pieces of rumor and reports came together in Rif's mind to form a coherent whole. This Wise One was Aviendha, who was said to carry the Dragon's children. The unpleasant woman was Hessalam, who rumor (and reports from Telamon Flinn) claimed had been one of the Forsaken. Rumor said that she had somehow become attached to Aviendha and served her with utmost loyalty. Or perhaps fanaticism.

Rif was torn from his revelation at the sound of his name. Sumeko and Aviendha were looking at him expectantly. Rif felt heat rise to his cheeks even when he kept his face neutral. "I'm sorry; I was distracted. What was that?" The women regarded him with the same smile Bode had used earlier.

"We were discussing," Aviendha said, "your so-called Archways. Hessalam, would you tell him what you told me?"

Hessalam's eyes sprung to life with a definite gleam of a fanatic, a full-fledged desperation to obey her mistress. "In my time," she said in a gravelly voice, "there were ter'angreal that were used to house specific weaves of saidar or saidin, to be stimulated with threads from the Powers that composed those weaves. The Asha'man is correct. A similar principle could create these archways, which could create gateways to predetermined locations."

Bode looked at Rif with pride. "All we need is a man who can create ter'angreal. To work with Elayne and make this happen."

Rif's eyebrows shot up. "I'll ask Lord Logain. But-" Rif cut off and leaned toward Bode. "Will you be alright?" he asked.

Bode smiled at him and patted his hand, warmth passing through the bond. "I'll be fine, Rif. Go; I'll be right here when you get back." Rif stood and saluted Bode's companions, then left the room.

On the way out, having seized the Source, he heard the women murmuring about how men can be so overprotective. "What could go wrong?" Elayne asked.

* * *

Karl Zavier stood unseen, cloaked in the Mirror of Mists, and waited for the rumors to begin spreading about Irella's Raising. The girl had, after six years as a novice and four as an Accepted, been summoned to test for the shawl.

Zavier's mouth twitched in a cruel smile. As soon as she was raised, she would decide the Red Ajah and bond Zavier as her Warder, allowing them both to leave the White Tower and further their agenda. And at the same time his agenda. He had his own plans for what would happen when they got their hands on Arason and the Cauthon chit.

Zavier stood straighter as he heard a commotion down the hall. Irella appeared, escorted by a sister from each Ajah. Zavier's heart sank as he felt something off. The Aes Sedai were cold, distant; at least, more so than usual. They didn't even look at Irella, who wore a simple brown dress and carried a leather bag over her shoulder.

Zavier followed the group as quietly as he could, keeping his ears perked. The sisters stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the White Tower. "Go on to the Traveling grounds, child, and give the Aes Sedai this letter. It will tell them where to send you. The Kin will be good to you. Good bye." With that ice-cold sentiment, the sisters turned and left without a look back.

Irella stood there, trembling with rage and the letter clenched in her fist. Zavier approached and dropped the Mask of Mirrors. "What happened?" Irella looked at him with venom in her gaze, then turned and left for the Traveling grounds. Zavier, with some effort, pushed down his frustration at being ignored and followed her.

"What happened?" he asked more forcefully. Irella stopped and glared at him with even more ire than before.

"I failed." Her words seemed to echo with rage and grief. "I lost my nerve and ran on the eighty-seventh weave. I can't be tested again and I can't be raised, so I have been put out of the Tower." She lifted her hand to examine the Great Serpent ring. 'This is all I have to remember my home." For a moment she looked as if she would cry, then her expression shifted … to pure, cold fury. "They will pay for this," she said in an undertone and started off again.

Zavier stood there in shock for a moment before a smile curled his lips and he jogged to catch up. "You're right," he said. "They deserve to pay for this. To pay in the worst way."

Irella looked at him as if he were crazy. "What are you talking about?" she asked in apparent horror. Zavier felt his smug joy start to deflate. She had only been slinging empty threats, working off her anger. But he could see the true ire in her eyes. A spark that just needed a little fan of encouragement.

"They can still pay for this. This wasn't according to plan … so we change the plan." Irella looked at him as if he were crazy, but she didn't turn away or speed up. "Irella, they let the Cauthon girl become an Aes Sedai after, what, three years? And less than half in the actual White Tower." The woman's expression soured and she did look away.

"The Aes Sedai were meant to be servants, but who do they serve?" he asked. "They serve themselves even after the Last Battle. They scheme and plot and manipulate all for themselves and their so-called White Tower. They're like an overgrown forest so thick with vegetation that nothing can move, nothing can live." He quirked a cruel smile. "In nature, if a forest becomes overgrown it must be cleared. By a purging fire."

Irella stopped in her tracks, her face suddenly white as a sheet. At least she had been listening. "What are you saying?" she asked.

"I'm saying that sometimes that fire needs a little … push." He turned to face Irella. "I've heard tell that the Kin have done much to relax their Rules since the Last Battle. Some have gone so far as to say the Kin have turned themselves upside down to better serve their new purpose. And yet they are still overlooked by the Aes Sedai. If you go to them, it will be a high advantage." They were nearing the Traveling grounds; he had to finish this quickly. "You deserve more than anyone to be Aes Sedai, Irella. And when you prove yourself in the fire … they will bring you in with open arms."

Irella looked at Zavier with a steely glare, but he could see something else in her eye. The ember of betrayal that had ignited into a flame of revenge. A flame that would burn the White Tower to its core. The Pit of Doom hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all.

"They'll likely be sending me to Caemlyn, where the Kin reside. As soon as you finish your time at the White Tower, come find me. We'll move on from there." She turned and entered the Traveling grounds as if he were not there.

Karl sneered at her back. The White Tower would burn alright, and only the strong would be left. Those who had trained as soldiers and had really fought the Last Battle. He could see it now.

The Black Tower would be the only Tower.

All he needed for now was to wait.

* * *

Rand al'Thor looked down from his perch on one of the rooftops of Tar Valon, looking down at one of his men scheming against one of the guardians of the Westlands. It was a simple matter to listen in, and he did not like what he heard. Such scheming had been the norm during the War of Power, when the Dark One's vile influence had turned good men and women to his side, playing on their selfish desires.

He thought back to Mordeth, who had become as evil as the Dark One in his mission to destroy him. It seems that even without the Dark One's presence, people still fought for themselves as much as for others. For every good man, there was one who was not.

Rand willed himself away and appeared on a balcony of the Palace of Andor, looking down upon Aviendha as she walked across the courtyard, carrying his children within her and followed by her shadow, Hessalam.

Hessalam had been a true stroke of fortune; or perhaps it was simply the Will of the Wheel. Rand himself, and his memories of the Age of Legends, were a source of insight to lead the Black Tower to greatness, to push it faster into its place as a guardian of the world. Hessalam was the way for the White Tower and the Wise Ones. Aviendha had often visited Elayne so that Hessalam could offer wisdom from her native Age, to help rediscover that which had been lost to the Aes Sedai during the Breaking. Aviendha had shared a source of knowledge when she could have kept it to herself and the Aiel, and he could not be more proud.

He next willed himself to a different courtyard, one where Elayne stood watching a group of masons and artisans carve a large archway out of marble, black as midnight and to be treated with both sides of the One Power for strength and resilience. An Asha'man observed the carving of an arch of snow-white marble, accompanied by his bonded Aes Sedai. Rand thought he looked familiar and Looked closer. He realized it was Jonneth Dowtry, of Emond's Field. Rand smiled at one of his childhood friends learning to make ter'angreal.

Rand straightened as he saw Riften and Bodewhin enter the courtyard with two children; his children. Riften was carrying Siuan, singing a lullaby to her. Rand had originally wanted to name her after Egwene, but Elayne had pointed out that it was far too common a name after the Last Battle. A princess should have something more unique. So they had named her after an unsung hero of the Light. Her brother had been named Gareth in turn, and was currently being carried by Bode.

Riften spoke with Elayne, who nodded and pointed in a different direction. She must be sending them to that terror of a nursemaid, Lini. Rand smiled. That woman had the fire in her to make an Amyrlin cower.

Rand willed himself back to his cabin at Dragonmount and began to write in one of the journals he would send, discreetly, to the Black Tower. The last Battle had been won, but conflict was part of human nature. He would help where he could. But, Riften and Bode were in for a challenge.

Rand grinned. He had a feeling they were up to it.

 **Guys, just a quick thank you for sticking with me. I really appreciate it! A special thanks to "Pegueng (" for you unerring support. It has kept me moving through the darkest times. Many thanks to all.**


	16. Chapter 15

**Sorry about the long wait, ya'll. I hit a roadblock and took some time to shake it. On with the show!**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

Bode kept her expression serene. On the outside, she was the ideal of an Aes Sedai; inside was a different story. Bode felt nervousness churn within her at what she and Rif had been asked to do. Rif noticed her discomfort and took her hand. She in turn intertwined their fingers. He was even more nervous than her, having seen the likes of these creatures before.

Bode and Rif stood in a line of six Asha'man and six Aes Sedai, as well as Alivia, in front of the line of boulders that marked the edge of _Stedding_ Sholoon. Bode glanced to her left to see Asha'man Androl staring ahead, his hands clasped behind his back and a look of sorrow in his eyes.

In front of the line of channelers stood a regal figure wrapped in a yellow shawl. This had been her endeavour, and she had asked for assistance. Queen Elayne had heard of her request and told Bode, who had agreed with Rif that this deserved their attention. Besides, even after so much time away from Emond's Field and all the changes that had taken place, it was hard to say no to Nynaeve.

After a few more minutes, a group of Ogier led two figures by ropes that bound their hands and necks. Bode felt a swell of grief through the bond, her beloved's grief for his brothers who had been forced to change. Forced to change in the worst of ways. Androl's stiffened posture showed he felt the same. He had said that these men were his responsibility.

Nynaeve lifted an arm and gestured forward, to which the line responded. As they got closer, Bode could make out the form of a grizzled older man, his beard styled into a rough point and a garnet in his left ear. _Tairen_ , Bode thought. This was Donalo Sandomere, one of the Asha'man who had been Turned.

Next to him was a short woman with waist-length black hair that matched her dark eyes and complexion. It provided an odd contrast to her Ajah, the White. Ayako Norsoni had been bonded by Sandomere during Elaida's ill-planned invasion of the Black Tower. She, like her partner, had been Turned.

The Ogier escort paused just before the rocks. Some held Ayako in place while the rest kept Sandomere going. He had been heavily dosed with forkroot tea beforehand, leaving him relatively harmless. However, no chances were being taken. Though the Dark One was now permanently sealed away, these two and their kind could still cause great harm should they escape.

Bode prepared herself to link, the circle centering on Gabrelle of the Brown, who had decided to join this escapade in Logain's stead. When all aside from Nynaeve had joined, she passed control of the circle to Androl, who bolstered his meager strength with an _angreal_ in a pouch at his belt. Androl, dexterity making up for strength, wove a Shield and settled it onto Sandomere should the forkroot wear off.

At a nod from Androl, Nynaeve approached the Tairen Asha'man, who regarded her with dull disinterest. Bode felt a flicker of hope light within her. Nynaeve was the greatest Healer in the White Tower; her skills were only matched by Damer Flinn. She had done what was thought impossible and had cured gentling and stilling. She had cured the the madness of the taint. _Anything but death can be Healed_ , she had said. If that were true, then so could this.

* * *

Nynaeve studied the man before her. The Asha'man who had seen such things had described the look in their eyes, as if their souls had been taken and replaced with something … evil. Looking upon Sandomere, she could see what they meant. And thought she would never admit it, her heart went out to them. That was why she had chosen to do this.

These men and women had not chosen to join the Shadow; the decision had been forced upon them. The most personal of decisions had been stolen from them. Much like the madness from the cleansed taint, they had had no say in this crime against them. Nynaeve would change that.

Nynaeve took Sandomere's head in her hands and delved him, much as she had for Naeff almost a year ago. She searched for something like that, like the net of evil that had infected their minds. Or perhaps it was like severing, as it was called by Aviendha's escort, Hessalam; a break or cutting within the mind.

As she delved deeper, she felt the cause of it; she almost jumped in fear. Some form of … presence permeated his mind. Not like the taint; that had resembled thorns or barbs that plunged into the victim's mind, a network that resembled an infection. But at least it had been still, unmoving. This seemed to be … alive in some way.

Nynaeve had heard about a sea creature with eight long fleshy arms that radiated from a central body. An octopus, she recalled. The Turning resembled that. A pulsating, aware, parasitic presence that kept the mind in a vice-like grip.

Nynaeve wove together threads of the Five Powers and probed at the ... thing. She struck at one of its appendages, which seemed to … burn from the contact. And at the edge of her consciousness, she almost felt a _screeching_ , and one of the appendages broke away to lurch toward her.

Nynaeve broke contact before it could touch her and stepped away, chest heaving and sweat gathered on her brow. This was something new, a challenge she had never faced before. How to purge something from a victim that _fought back_? She looked to the leader of the residing Asha'man, Androl, who nodded; the circle was fine. She had time.

Nynaeve delved again, quicker now that she knew what to look for, and examined the Turning. It seemed to have settled. She spun and adjusted a weaving that focused on Spirit and tried to grip one of the tentacles. The appendage burned away, but she was able to wrap it along its length and hold on. Another appendage broke away to attack, but she caught it and bound it, too.

More followed, some trying to drive her away and some trying to free itself from her. But Nynaeve had trained herself in dexterity since the Last Battle, and she was as stubborn as any in the Two Rivers, if not moreso. She wove bindings to restrain the attacking tentacles, then forced them toward the others, lashing two or more together. The Turning seemed to howl in panic and thrashed at her as she pried more appendages from Sandomere's mind.

Finally, all of the appendages were removed and she ripped away the center of it. She opened herself to as much _saidar_ as she could and tightened the bindings, burning the Turning. And at least, she wove a spear of the Five Powers and drove it at the core of it, burning it away like dead wood. An echoing wail emanated, then silence.

Nynaeve delved Sandomere's mind and sighed. Abrasions similar to bruises or scabs lined his mind. She wove another Healing weave and began working on them, easing the damage that the Turning had caused. Eventually, she was exhausted. She could do no more for him; only he himself could recover any more. She broke off the contact and released the Source.

Nynaeve eased Sandomere down to the grass. He was unconscious, out cold from the strain. She had felt his suffering during the Healing. This was definitely a difficult process, for him as well as her. Nynaeve stood, shakily, and addressed the Ogier. "Take him. I am not sure what effect this has had in the long run. We shall have to wait until he wakes up and find out." The Ogier nodded and gathered Sandomere up before reentering the _stedding_.

* * *

Bode relaxed as the Ogier crossed into the _stedding_ and Androl dissolved the circle. Nynaeve approached Gabrelle and explained the results of her Healing to report back to Logain. Bode looked at Rif to find him staring at where the Ogier had faded back into the trees. His emotions were tangled up, a chaotic mix of sadness, hope, and trepidation. Bode kissed his cheek to bring him back to reality. Rif shook his head and gave sheepish smile before drawing her close.

The duo found Alivia and were about to leave when Nynaeve approached. She regarded Alivia with something like a glare, as if they had unfinished business, and Rif neutrally. She gave Bode a smile. "How are you, Bodewhin?" she asked.

Bode smiled and warmly embraced her former Wisdom. "I'm well, thank you, Nynaeve," she answered truthfully. They spoke for a good half hour about their lives since the Last Battle. Though as they continued to talk, Nynaeve seemed to grow more and more distracted, darting glances around and rubbing the ring on her finger. Bode noticed that Rif was the same, his gaze darting around more than usual.

It reached a head when Nynaeve embraced the Source, as if expecting to be attacked. Bode felt Rif's emotions narrow, like a honed blade, and he launched himself in front of them. Bode just saw a weave of Air flash toward them, and it broke apart when it reached Rif. He still had to brace himself from a gust of wind, but the weave had fallen apart when it touched him.

Rif glowed orange, at least to her, and fired off a weave she hadn't seen him use before. Small somethings flashed from his fingertips toward a warping in the air some distance away. Someone was using a Mask of Mirrors and it was being interfered with somehow. Rif's paralis-net, Bode realized.

By then, several other channelers of both Towers had noticed what had happened and had begun firing off weaves of their own. The mask broke apart to reveal an asha'man in a ragged coat, as well as an Aes Sedai, her dress torn and stained. Dreadlords left over from the Last Battle.

The asha'man, a former Dedicated by the sword on his collar, drew his sword and flew toward Nynaeve, who batted him aside with a weave of Air and shielded him. The former Aes Sedai didn't last much longer. A quick inspection revealed that they had been Turned. _Explains their lack of planning_ , Bode thought. Turning was said to weaken one's initiative and creativity. They must have blamed Nynaeve for helping reseal the Dark One. One of the Asha'man reported to the Ogier and in less than an hour they had taken the new captives away.

After it had all been sorted, Nynaeve approached Bode and Rif. She lifted an eyebrow at the young man. "Where did you get that _ter'angreal_? The one that dissolved the weave?" She asked. Rif stiffened and blushed, then sighed.

"I'm not sure, exactly. I found it on my bed during my sojourn at the White Tower. The note said it was for me." He removed his coat and lifted his shirt sleeve to reveal the leather vambrace decorated with coins. Nynaeve narrowed her eyes and nodded, though Bode could see an odd look in her eyes; she looked as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. She sighed and looked him in the eye. "Thank you for trying to protect me," she said, albeit half-heartedly.

Before Nynaeve left, she looked at Bode with a small smile. "You've found a good one, Bodewhin. Take care of him, and don't tell him I said that." With that, the glow of _saidar_ surrounded her and a gateway opened. She left without another word.

Bode looked at Rif, who was some distance away speaking to Androl. She smiled widely. She had found a good one.

* * *

Rif hummed a lullaby that his father had sung to him as an infant as he made up the couch. The house he had been given when he was raised to Asha'man, moving past the notion that he actually owned a house, was small and cozy, with two bedrooms and a kitchen, study, and basement. It was simply furnished; just as he liked it.

Bode had argued when he deigned to take the couch, Alivia taking the spare room and her the master bedroom. She had said it was "unfit for an Asha'man to refuse his own bed". Rif, however, had refused to force a lady to sleep anywhere else. Rif felt the color rise to his cheeks as he remembered her suggestion to "share". He shook that thought away and continued his task.

Rif stiffened as his vision went dark, a giggle coming from behind him. Rif chuckled and tried to remove Bode's hands, but she held firm. Rif stood, still blinded, and Bode guided him some distance, through twists and turns until he had no idea what part of the house they were in. Eventually, she stopped and he heard a door close. With that, Bode let him see.

They were in the master bedroom, which Rif really should have guessed. He turned and blushed to find bode in her smallclothes, ready for bed. She gently pushed against his chest, knocking him onto the bed and unlaced his shirt, wearing a small smirk all the while.

Finished with his shirt, she crawled under the sheets and looked at him as if expecting something. Rif heaved a sigh through his nose and crawled under the sheets as well. He stiffened when Bode wriggled against him, settling with her back to his chest and placing his arms around her waist, their fingers intertwined.

Rif felt her embrace the Source and the lamps were extinguished. "Good night, Rif," Bode said.

Rif smiled in the darkness. "Good night, Bode."

 **To Tedronai, thank you for you consistent reviews. They've helped me reevaluate some of my thoughts, and more importantly, they've kept up my will to write. I'll try to address each of your questions and again, thank you for your support.**

 **1)I hinted in chapter one that Zavier has some "qualities to be stomped out". I was referring to his arrogance. I highly doubt six months would remove the Aes Sedai "people skills" and my thought is that one of the Telamons saw an opportunity to improve one of their men.**

 **2)History is a funny thing and often one's wrong actions can completely overshadow any good they do. Taim's legacy is like that; his contributions to building up the Black Tower have been overshadowed by his betrayal.**

 **3)Zavier will turn out to be far more than a "petty nobleman". I just wanted the audience to get a feel for his inner self, which leaves much to be desired.**

 **4)In the Last Battle, Grady brought the people of Hinderstap (the ones who go nuts, kill each other, and wake up fine) to protect a dam in the Last Battle. honestly, I couldn't think of anything else about his skills or track record that stood out.**

 **5) According to a supplementary book, the Age of Legends had people allowed to test multiple times over a decade long period of their lives in case they chickened out the first time. This is like that, only by sheer coincidence. I only read that book recently. The armor _ter'angreal_ was part of the set and Rand saw no reason to remove it. As you've read, logain is getting his share of benefits, but Rand had plans for Rif and Bode. **

**6) Rif's idea about finding the _sa'angreal_ was in the interest of both Towers. It's just what he does, he tries to help people. **

**7) Yeah, I figured Aviendha felt the least amount of time-shifting. Don't worry, she's right on the edge of giving birth, though i'm not sure if we'll see the result here.**


	17. Chapter 16

**Apologies for the long absence, guys. Laptop has been having troubles. On with the show!**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

As the gateway opened and Rif strode through, his face was set in a frown; his eyes were like iron and constantly moving, searching for the smallest threat. They had stayed at the Black Tower for three days, but he would have prefered they stayed forever rather than this. He gripped the handle of his sword as _saidin_ raged within him, grateful for the heightened perception.

Bode followed him and regarded his with a raised eyebrow, her expression a mix of exasperation and affection. She had said she could handle herself, flirted and demanded, but Rif had been unmoving. Not in this place. As far as he was concerned it was dangerous for any woman who could channel, even and Aes Sedai.

After a few moments, Alivia stepped through, as well. She looked almost green, as if she were sick to her stomach. Understandable, given where they were. Among whom they were standing. Bode gave her a smile and Rif tried to smile, too; it seemed to do little to calm the woman's nerves.

Bode took the lead and strode through the streets from the Traveling grounds. Rif kept his eyes moving, judging anything and everything. This place was dangerous for Bode, and he would be burned if she came to harm because he let his guard down. At least Alivia shared his concerns; after all, she had been the one to fight hardest against this destination.

Rif sighed and kept watching as they moved further into Ebou Dar.

* * *

Alivia had to force herself to breath evenly, to fight the nausea that welled up inside her. It was no wonder that the Lord Dragon had kept her away from these people during his campaign before the Last Battle. She felt like a nervous wreck! She sincerely hoped that the person Bodewhin had wanted to meet was worth it.

She had to admit that the Seanchan had melded well with these people. The architecture and clothing were still Ebou Dari, at least as far as she remembered from the invasion. But her experienced eye could spot the often subtle changes that had permeated the city. She wondered idly if the change would at some point stop or if Ebou Dar would eventually become just another little Seanchan.

Eventually, they approached a large palace that was their destination. The ex- _damane_ steeled herself and moved along behind Bodewhin. After so long freed from the cursed _adam_ , she was ready to test herself against them, to show them that she was more than they had thought she was, that she had become _more_ than they thought possible.

The Deathwatch Guards at the gates, insectoid helmets all-too-familiar to the blonde woman, stoically asked why they were here. Upon receiving an answer from Bodewhin, she had a feeling they would have laughed if they could have. They simply stared at Bodewhin, who stared back in an unnamed contest of wills. A contest that was broken by a sudden shout.

"Oh for the Creator's bloody sake, boys! She's no threat, she's my sister! Stand down, burn you, or I'll kick your arses so hard your noses'll bleed!" The Deathwatch Guards gave no discernible reaction to the triade aside from moving to the side and letting the shouter pass. Apparently, they were quite used to it.

From across the courtyard strode a tall, lanky-yet-muscular man dressed in a long green coat, covering what was the bare minimum of court finery. A dark, wide-brimmed hat and leather eyepatch marked him out, as well as the signet ring on his finger. And if that didn't, the sword-headed spear he carried over his shoulder certainly did. This was the near-fabled Prince of Ravens, husband of the Empress. The sole strategist of the Last Battle. This was Bodewhin's elder brother, Matrim Cauthon.

* * *

Bode smiled wide at the sight of her big brother. She hadn't needed the foul language in those insults to identify him; she would know that voice until her dying day. Mat strode forward and handed his _ashandarei_ , as Elayne had called it, off to one of the Guards before enveloping Bode in a hug. She gladly returned it.

"It's good to see you, Bode!" he said. "Finally someone from home to cut the boredom of these stiff-stuffy Seanchan." He let her go with that roguish grin of his. "And an Aes Sedai as well; they better not have turned you into a demanding icy she-beast that doesn't take no for an answer, like them."

Bode laughed at the description, which she had to admit was fairly accurate. "Relax, Mat. I'm still me." Mat chuckled and turned to Rif.

"So is this the boy of yours that mam's letter talked about?" Bode nodded and moved to the side, revealing Rif in his unusually-stony glory. Rif nodded with an asha'man salute, though his eyes stayed on the Deathwatch Guards. Mat's smile grew wider and he gestured toward the Guards.

"Relax, friend. These guys are like trained dogs; they won't bite unless a member of the royal family says so."

Rif regarded Mat before answering. "It's not them I'm worried about," he said, his gaze following a _sul'dam_ and _damane_ as they moved past. Alivia looked worse than Rif, like she wanted to sick up, burn the courtyard to the ground, or both.

Mat sighed through his nose and clapped Rif on the shoulder, looking him straight in the eye. "Riften, right?" Rif nodded. "Do you really think that if there was the slightest chance Bode was in danger that I would have invited her here? Really?" Rif looked down and thought about it, then shook his head. Mat's grin returned.

"You can relax. Nothing's gonna happen to you on my watch." He plucked his _ashandarei_ from the guard and moved back. "And don't think you're off the hook, Asha'man," he said in mock severity. "I'm still Bode's big brother, and I've got my own way of testing you out. Until then, I've got my eye on you."

Bode sighed at her brother's sense of humor, but Rif actually laughed at the turn of phrase. He looked to Bode, who gestured for him to follow Mat. As he moved on, Bode took Alivia by the arm and moved her along.

* * *

Irella took her hands from the head of an old man, who smiled at her with his three teeth and thanked her. His cough was gone thanks to her Healing. Irella, her training from the White Tower taking over, smiled to hide her revulsion. The old beggar tottered away on an weathered staff, perhaps less weathered than the one who used it, and was gone.

Irella sighed and tried to push down her bitterness. She thought back to the day, just over a week ago, that she had been enrolled in the Kin. She had arrived in Caemlyn from the White Tower and been given directions to the home of the Kin, a large manor inside the Inner City.

The Kin had been quite welcoming, she had to admit, and had enrolled her within the hour. After the enrollment, they had assigned her a Mentor, a woman who would teach her the ways of the Kin, both as they had been before their uncovery and as they were now, in Andor. Sibella was a scrawny woman with yellow hair who had been a rug weaver in Ebou Dar. She had gone over the history of the Kin, as well as their Rules, both old and new. She had explained the ranking system, based on age, and the duties of the Kin who resided in Andor, in Caemlyn or otherwise.

The Kin held an agreement with Queen Elayne Sedai to provide Healing and Traveling to the citizens of Andor, in exchange for housing and protection. Groups of the Kin had been established in major cities of Andor, such as Whitebridge and Aringill. And as part of the Seanchan agreement with Tar Valon, Kinswomen captured by the _sul'dam_ had been freed and returned to Andoran soil.

In addition to teaching the Rules, Sibella had asked Irella about herself; asked about her background, skills and Talents, and about her opinions despite her youth and thus low status within the Kin's hierarchy. She had seemed quite happy when Irella mentioned her skill in Healing, even in the new forms devised by Nyaneve Sedai. It was a far cry from the aloofness of the Aes Sedai.

But despite the warm welcome, Irella couldn't help but dwell on what she had been denied. She had dreamed for nine years of becoming an Aes Sedai and that dream had been shattered. She had slaved for nine years striving for the shawl, and they had turned away from her after almost a decade. She had desired more than anything to join the Red Ajah and help the world by bringing down men who could channel, who had broken the world and still were a threat.

Irella had been assigned to Healing for her first week, largely fixing up masons and carpenters who had been injured in the ongoing reconstruction of Caemlyn. Frankly, it was demeaning. She had the strength to be an Aes Sedai, and a strong one, and she was forced to slum with the rejects of the White Tower.

Irella trudged toward the dinner hall of the Kin's manor. Zavier had better finish his term at the Tower soon. His words about the White Tower's treatment of her had sparked some ideas in regards to the calcified statues that called themselves Aes Sedai. And those ideas were not pretty.

* * *

Min Farshaw, Doomseer, Truthspeaker of the Seanchan Empress, chuckled at the dice that had been thrown. A farmer of Ebou Dar cursed his bad luck and moved on, taking his drink with him. Min wasn't sure if it was Mat's rank, the Deathwatch Guards, or the presence of an Asha'man among them, one of the men who had delivered the first true defeat to the so-called "Ever Victorious Army".

Before the Seanchan and most of the Ever Victorious Army had sailed back to Seanchan, Mat had taken the time to set up several gambling houses within Ebou Dar funded by the Crystal Throne. Min still wasn't sure exactly why Fortuona had allowed it, but she really didn't care.

Min watched closely as Mat tossed his dice cup and came up with six crowns. Despite losing his _ta'veren_ status, Mat's legendary luck had barely faltered. Now, instead of winning every toss, he simply won nine out of ten. And even with that, he seemed to be able to sense when he would lose, and thus lost little while gaining much. Perhaps that was why Fortuona had allowed this; he so rarely lost anything.

Min looked to the side to see Mat's soon-to-be brother-in-law. Upon first meeting the pair, Min had seen a red ribbon tied around their wrists. It didn't take a genius to realize they were linked, tied to each other by the heart. Min refocused on the game; this was her first night of leisure as Fortuona's Truthspeaker in weeks and she wanted to savor it.

* * *

Rif tried to focus on the game before him, or as Matrim had called it the "way of testing Rif out". Rif grinned as he felt a flicker of humor through the bond; at least Bode was having a good time. Rif jumped as Matrim slammed the dice cup in front of him.

"Once more, Rif. Let's see what you're made of," he said lightly. Rif looked down at the dice cup with trepidation and its twin sitting in front of Matrim. He had never had the funds nor any real desire to gamble and so had little practice in the pastime. This part of the night was what he had been dreading the most, and with good reason. He had lost every toss he had made.

Rif wrapped himself in the Void and took the dice cup. Taking a chance, he moved the whole of his wooden chips that stood for crowns in the gambling house, carved with the visage of a fox chasing ravens, and began shaking the cup. On a whim, Rif seized the Source, riding the raging storm of fire and ice that was _saidin_. He focused on the dice cup, every nick and scar of the wooden vessel visible to him, willing the dice to come out high.

Rif slammed the cup down at the same time as Matrim. As if responding to his force, a headache bloomed behind his eyes. The pain was sudden and sharp, and gone before he had the chance to clutch his head. Rif shook his head and let the Source go. He held his breath as he and Matrim checked their dice …

* * *

Min stared at Riften with wide eyes. As he had tossed his dice, for the briefest moment she had seen a viewing. It had looked like a pair of dice tumbling on top of a loom, the threads rising to grasp for the dice. She wasn't sure what it meant, but she felt it was important.

* * *

Rif gaped at the dice in front of him. Six crowns. His gaze flicked to Matrim's. Five crowns. What had just happened? He couldn't have won; Matrim never lost when he bet so much. Whenever he lost he had only staked enough to enter the wager.

Matrim seemed to shake off his shock as a huge grin spread across his face. He pushed the pot toward Rif. "Well done, Rif," he laughed. "I haven't lost in … I can't even remember the last time I lost. Well done."

Rif smiled in response and tried to move past it. But a small part of him kept wondering what had just happened.

* * *

Later that night, or perhaps it was early morning, Mat sat on the balcony of the Empress's chambers, looking over Ebou Dar. The past year had been quite a thrill ride and it was nice to take a breather. Tuon had decided to leave Ebou Dar in the more-than-capable hands of Beslin as she sailed back to the Seanchan homeland to reclaim her home. Naturally, Mat had been obliged to accompany her.

As it turned out, Mat had been instrumental in reclaiming Seanchan. His unnatural tactical experience and only slightly-diminished luck had accelerated the Reclamation, according to several generals in the Ever Victorious Army, from a decades-long conflict to a decisive strike. All that was left after that long year was clean-up, taking back the fringes. Tuon's claiming the Crystal Throne itself hadn't hurt either.

Mat's thoughts wandered back to his little sister and her new Warder. Mat wasn't an expert on the matter, but he had a feeling they would be married within a year. He frowned as he remembered Riften's continued edginess around _sul'dam_ and _damane_. Then again, it wasn't so odd given the Seanchan had abolished the practice less than a year ago.

Mat smiled at the thought. Artur Paendrag's "talk" with Tuon after the Last Battle had been surreptitiously recorded by a royal scribe, as would any half-brained scribe of the ever-meticulous Seanchan, and the results had been … unusual.

According to the transcribe, which Mat had quietly ordered to be copied as many times as possible, Hawkwing had given Tuon and all attending Blood a dressing-down to make one's skin crawl, highlighting the hypocrisy of the Return, of the Blood in general, and the horror of the _a'dam_. Needless to say, exceptional conquests aside, he had not been happy. He had even revealed that the original expedition had been arranged by Ishmael, a fact he knew through observing the world from the "World of Dreams".

Also needless to say, Hawkwing's disapproval had caused all attending Blood to request mass-reformation of Seanchan culture. Tuon had been bitter about that for a time, as was her way, but she had pushed it along with surprising force. Any and all _da'covale_ had been gradually freed within a matter of months despite the grumblings of their owners. The devious underbelly of the Blood had been gradually killed off, in some cases quite literally.

But the most important change had come when Tuon herself, in a rare moment of humility, had announced the discovery that _sul'dam_ could channel. The shockwaves of that announcement had been like a raging sea storm (some of Mat's memories had apparently been supplied by naval officers). Any freshly-caught _damane_ had been immediately released. Those conditioned to _need_ the _a'dam_ had been allowed to keep it, but the production of the leashes and the practice of collaring had been outlawed under the "Supreme Rule of Artur Hawkwing".

It had still taken nearly a year for Mat to become sure enough in these changes to invite his sister to visit. Change was often difficult, and no less for the Seanchan. But he had seen with his own eye that Tuon's efforts to "reshape the heir of Hawkwing's empire into the vision of it progenitor" were working.

Mat stood and returned to bed, part of him missing the warm-wrapped-in-cold presence of his wife. Tuon had vowed to remain in her homeland until every inch that was rightfully hers had been reclaimed. Mat lay back and sighed. Sometimes it was a pain to have such a driven woman for a wife. _But then_ , he thought with a smile, _it's one of the reasons I love her_.

* * *

Some distance north of Ebou Dar stood the large town of Jurador, wrapped by its wall to protect its salt mines. Deep in the mines there lay a strong-room, carved by still-leashed _damane_ from the iron-hard bedrock of the mountain to house something precious; something dangerous. The location was a closely guarded secret; its contents were even more so. A half-dozen _sul'dam_ and _damane_ who were assigned to aid the miners also had secret orders to protect the horrific treasures. And now they were all dead, their necks broken.

A member of the Seanchan High Blood walked behind another figure into the strong-room. He had been hit hard by the new policies of the Empress, may she live forever. He had lost his _da'covale_ , his most prized possessions. He wanted revenge, and this man before him had promised that.

The man, short and dressed in a dark cloak, moved toward the large chest set in the far wall. It was made of that new material the so-called Black Tower was producing, the "heartstone". The all-but indestructible container had cost a large fortune. His benefactor spread his arms, fingers hooked into claws, and the chest flew open.

The cloaked man reached inside and removed a set of three rings, each properly sized for jewelry. He placed them in a small bag and put it in the pocket of the coat under his cloak. The Blood member smiled at their success.

"So, what now?" he asked. This mad scheme had all been his benefactor's idea. The man turned to regard him out of the corner of his eye, as if had had forgotten he were there. He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. Before the Seanchan could scream, he had exploded.

The man, an asha'man, removed his coat and wove a gateway. "Nothing for you," he answered sadistically. He moved through the gateway and let it close. The tools of his plan were now his. Now to wait; wait for the time to implement them.

 **new chapter. R &R!**


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Alivia hummed a song from her homeland as she packed up her things for the next leg of her little group's journey. They had stayed in Ebou Dar for two weeks as Bodewhin reconnected with her brother and he got to know Riften. And she had to admit that it had become easier to relax in the Seanchan colony. No one had attacked her or forced the collar on her. She reluctantly understood why the remaining _damane_ would want the collar; life-long lessons didn't fade easily, especially for those who lived as long as they. But at least the Seanchan seemed to be living up to their word.

"Sorry to see you leave," someone said. Alivia stood at the familiar voice and turned to see Min leaning against the doorframe, a small smirk on her face. Min seemed to have rejected the concept of Seanchan noble finery and wore embroidered leggings and a shirt, just as she always had.

Alivia liked the girl. She was kind, strong, and she had befriended Alivia even when she didn't trust her. And the two had grown closer over the last two weeks as they discussed the Lord Dragon and his mysterious plans. "I never thought I would say it, but I'm sorry to go," Alivia answered.

"A part of me wishes I could go with you," Min said. Alivia looked at her in question. Min shrugged. "The signs I've seen rolling off of those two point to something big coming. And not necessarily good, either." Min looked Alivia in the eye with a small smile. "Be careful, Alivia," she said.

Alivia smiled widely. "Always, sister," she said. And she meant it; Min was in many ways the younger sister she no longer possessed. The two embraced before Alivia left to join her cohorts.

* * *

Bode strode behind Rif as he led the way through a gateway. They emerged on a stony cliff overlooking a small town. The houses were made of quarried stone with slate roofs covered in mountain snow; the few set streets were cobbled. The town was known for its small quarries as well as its mining that supplied iron as well as some gold and silver to Baerlon, and therefore to the rest of Andor. They had arrived in Comfrey.

Bode felt Rif's anxiety through the bond. Aside from Ebou Dar, this was the place he had most wanted to avoid. And for his own sake, not for hers. Her mouth quirked in the quickest of smiles at the thought that he had placed her own safety above his own. Bode took his hand in her own, but though he smiled to her, it was forced. Alivia cleared her throat to get their attention.

"Are we coming?" she asked, the glow of _saidar_ springing around her and a gateway to the town itself opening. Bode guided Rif through to the outskirts of the town. To anyone watching it would seem they had walked out of a large oak near the road. Alivia led the way as they entered the town.

"Where do we go, Riften?" the ex- _damane_ asked. Before Rif could answer, someone shouted his name. A large, burly man dressed in a blacksmith's leather jerkin approached, a wide smile on his face.

"Light, man, is that you?" Bode felt Rif's unease fade a little as he smiled and spoke with the blacksmith, who gestured at Rif's coat and pins and sword with fascination. Finally, he let them go on, and Rif's dread returned full force.

Rif led them through the town until they reached a well-sized inn, the Whispering Willows. He slowly pushed the doors open and led them in. The common room was clean and well-organized. Serving girls, as well as the odd sight of serving boys, wiped down tables and refilled drinks. A fire roared in the sizable fireplace.

One of the serving girls, or rather a serving woman, turned to address them as they entered; she stopped in her tracks as her eyes fell on an Aes Sedai and an Asha'man.

"Hello, Sabine, it's good to see you again," he said. The serving woman, Sabine, gasped with a hand to her chest, apparently recognizing Rif. She turned and nearly ran deeper into the inn. Rif swallowed nervously and beckoned to Bode and Alivia, gesturing to a table. The trio sat and waited. They hadn't been sitting long when a commotion came from the back of the inn.

"I don't care if it's the Amyrlin herself come to call, no one - especially an Aes Sedai or those Asha'man can summon me in my own inn!" A woman, likely the owner, came in she walked straight up to them, as if she could sense who they were. "And another thing, I-" She cut off when she saw Rif stand, posture tall and proud despite the uncertainty raging through the bond.

"Hello, Mother," he said.

* * *

Irella tried to keep up her Aes Sedai-like calm as she followed at the side of Sibella and two other Kinswomen who formed a triangle around Queen Elayne, an honor guard within the walls of the Black Tower. The queen supposedly made these trips on occasion to check up on the asha'man, whom she considered something along the lines of honorary citizens of Andor.

Gabrelle Sedai rode with them, as well as two of the supposed "Telamons" who stood as the M'Hael's group of leaders. Irella compared it to the Hall of the Sitters in the White Tower, or perhaps more closely to a general and his chosen cabinet.

Gabrelle Sedai was explaining to the queen about some policy or other within the Black Tower, but Irella found it difficult to focus surrounded by so many men who could channel. They were everywhere! They strode around the town seeming without a care in the world, running errands and performing tasks. Muffled booms in the distance indicated practice in destroying boulders and right in front of the group some black-coated men were helping to "refurbish" a home, one small group destroying wooden walls, while another larger group lifted bricks and spread mortar, and another small group seared the bricks and mortar into a durable wall.

It was horrifying. Even before her name went into the novice book, Irella's Gran had used stories of channeling men to scare her at night. She had heard stories of the madness that afflicted them and the horrors they had wrought. They, the men who had Broken the World.

The Aes Sedai believed that the Taint on _saidin_ had been Cleansed, and perhaps they were right, but it didn't matter. These men were dangerous, madness or no. Men were volatile, aggressive, temperamental creatures who thought with their fists more than their heads, if ever. They had no business commanding something as unstoppable as the One Power. Only women, calm, sure, and always right, could use it responsibly.

After a few hours of exploration and debate, the queen had the Kinswomen link and form a gateway back to the Caemlyn Palace; the Kinswomen then returned to their manor. As Irella began removing her saddle, she felt something odd. Tied to one of the buckles was a felt bag. On impulse, she hid it until she finished grooming the horse, then was released for the day. She briefly thought about how good it would be to be past the Kin's traditional six week probationary period. She would have to get … a job, but at least she could operate on her own, without a Mentor looking over her shoulder.

Upon returning to her room, Irella took the bag from the pocket of her dress and emptied it onto her bed. Out poured three rings of silvery metal, two that looked like wristbands and one that was larger, like a tight necklace. A note sat by the bands, so she picked it up to read.

" _My time is soon up. The keys to our success - keep them hidden. Contact to be made soon. Burn me."_

Irella's gaze flicked back to the metal bands lying on her sheets. The keys to their success? There was no doubt that Zavier had sent them, but how could they possibly help? Irella embraced the Source and wove a thread of Fire, lighting the corner of the note before she tossed it into the small fireplace of her room.

Irella thought deeply about what Zavier could possibly mean before deciding he would explain his reasons when she next saw him; one way or another. She gathered up the bands and hid them in her wardrobe before leaving her room.

One way or another, she would get what she was after.

* * *

Bode watched with bated breath as Tora, Riften's mother, regarded her son with wide eyes. Clearly the serving woman had not told her what to expect in the common room. Riften stood proudly, but Bode noticed his hands trembling, his fingers opening and closing. Not to mention the raging tide of guilt and dread rising and falling through the bond.

"So you've come home," Tora said, her tone icy. Rif took a step back, as if he had been struck, and nodded. Tora folded her arms and regarded him coolly. "What makes you think you would be welcome?" she asked. The serving maids, standing in a large circle against the walls, all gasped.

Rif swallowed thickly, the guilt eating at him almost suffocating her through the bond. "I don't know. I just-" he bit off the sentence and sighed. "I miss my home. I missed you, Mother." Rif removed a stack of letters from his coat. "I wrote to you every week, but I didn't think you would take them; so I never sent them." Rif placed the letters on the table.

Tora took a step toward her son, her eyes blazing. Rif closed his eyes, as if awaiting a blow. Bode gasped when Tora clapped her arms around him. Rif's eyes shot open in surprise at the embrace, but after a moment he held her back just the same. Tora stepped back, tears rolling down her cheeks. She gave a watery smile and stroked Rif's cheek. "Welcome home, my son," she said.

Rif smiled as tears gathered in his own eyes. Tora shook her head and wiped her eyes, then clapped her hands. "Hop to it, ladies! Don't dawdle! My boy brings guests home and you want to just stand around? Come along, quickly, bring some stew and tea! Come along!"

Rif sat down with a sigh, a weary smile on his face. Bode felt … contentment through the bond, as if he were comforted by something familiar. Bode took his hand and smiled, which he returned. Sabine came forward with three bowls of venison stew and a pot of tea. "She really missed you," she said before turning to refresh another customer.

Bode tucked into her stew, which was delicious, but something was bothering her. The serving girls were all looking at her with … almost pity. Bode glanced at Rif, who seemed not to have noticed. She brushed it off and continued her meal. The serving maid's stares stayed with her even as the day wore on.

* * *

Karl grinned in anticipation as he strode toward the Tar Valon Traveling grounds, an Asha'man escort at his side. The Cairhienin lordling had finally been relieved of his tenure at the White Tower and been replaced by someone else. He looked to the side at his escort, but the man, likely a Shienaran by the top-knot, only held his stony glower. Karl shrugged it off as he entered the grounds and seized the Source, ready to weave a gateway home.

Karl stiffened as the Shienaran grasped his shoulder, his scowl deepened, and shook his head as if in warning. Karl narrowed his eyes, but the glint shining off the Shienaran's dragon pin made him remember his place. He let _saidin_ go, with a sense of loss. The Cairhienin gripped his sword handle as he struggled to keep his composure; struggled to rein in the temper he had had since childhood.

The Shienaran seized the Source, that feeling of menace rising in Karl's gut, and masterfully wove a gateway that opened up to the Black Tower. And not just to the Tower, but to the palace of Taim, which Lord Logain reluctantly used for business. The Shienaran pushed Karl through the gateway, which closed as they passed through, and took the steps to the doors, carved with the Dragon's Fang, that led to the entrance. When Karl tried to follow, the Asha'man shot a glare over his shoulder. The message was clear, _Stay put_. Though it chafed him, Karl obeyed as his escort entered the palace.

Less than ten minutes later, the Shienaran emerged and left, leaving only a warning to be respectful. Karl swallowed thickly, a sense of dread rising in his stomach, and entered the palace. The large entrance hall, retiled after the Last Battle in the form of the Dragon Banner, loomed before him. Karl moved on to what had in Taim's day been his throne room. Karl briefly thought of what a shame it had been that he had been a Darkfriend. The Cairhienin had come to like the former M'Hael's discipline.

Karl approached the dias that had once held a throne now relegated to a far less elaborate chair, one meant for comfort, and a large oak desk covered with papers. Logain sat examining the papers and speaking lowly with the Telamons, likely over costs and production and troops and small things.

Karl cleared his throat, causing the men to immediately silence and look at him. Karl felt his dread intensify at their identical expressions; disappointment, perhaps mixed with loathing. Logain stood and moved in front of his desk, the Telamons moving to flank him seemingly without thought.

"Karl Zavier," Logain said, "I have heard much about you from our sisters." The words would have made Karl preen, had they not been spoken as if in warning. "I will not lie. You were sent to the White Tower not for your diplomatic skills, which according to the Aes Sedai reports are negligible. You were sent to learn discipline and perhaps even humility from our sisters, who have centuries worth of experience in teaching such things. And yet, our efforts seem in vain.

"According to the Aes Sedai, you have displayed none of the self-control and diplomacy that is necessary to be given the dragon pin. You have treated the Accepted of the White Tower with disrespect and irreverence, despite my personal orders. And worse, you have apparently plotted against one of our own with malicious intent.

Logain took a deep breath. "For these actions you have earned nothing, at least nothing good. I hereby suspend your right to raising. Unless you prove otherwise, you will never receive the dragon pin; you will remain a Dedicated. You will be called an Arrested, one who will not be raised. We will not expel you from our Tower; that is not our way. But you have no faith from us. As the Aiel would say, you have no _ji_."

Logain turned back to his desk. "Return to your barracks and rest up. Tomorrow you will be in charge of training soldiers." With that, the Telamons resumed their discussions, treating Karl as if her were not there.

Upon passing through the doors, Karl had to physically restrain himself from running from the palace. He traced the familiar route to his former barrack that he shared with several other Dedicated. He returned to his room, which was just as he left it. Karl sat heavily on his bed, muttering obscenities under his breath that would have made his childhood nursemaid box his ears. How could they do this?!

Karl pounded his fist onto his pillow, which made a crackling noise. He had just crushed an envelope. Karl opened it, revealing a sword pin of bronze and a short note. He read it over. The note said that he was to wear this sword pin in place of the dragon. It also outlined that he was equal in rank to any other Dedicated, never to give them orders. He was restricted from leaving Shar'aman without a letter-of-right signed by three Asha'man. The Dragon Fang, the seal of the M'Hael, ended the letter next to Logain's signature.

Karl crumpled the letter and hurled it across his room. This was not fair! He had done what an Asha'man _should_ do! He had asserted his authority, not backed down to those witches of the White Tower. He had made it clear that he was only marginally under their command and would be treated as such. He had done far better than Gregor or the thrice-burned Arason! Karl felt rage and indignation surge under his skin, searing like fire. Then it went out, replaced by cold fury.

They could not do this to him. But if they thought so, if they wanted to believe they could until he showed them otherwise, who was he to judge. Karl stood asnd retrieved the letter, then crossed to his writing desk, his light touch ready to forge a letter-of-right from Logain and signatures from three Asha'man. It was time for him to use the other game he had grown up learning. The Game of Houses would not help him. But usurpation would.

He had his plan; all it needed was a little tweaking. The time was coming. Soon … Very soon, he would get all that he wanted.

 **Dun, dun, dun! What plans does Zavier have growing in that head of his? We'll find out soon enough!**


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Bode tried to keep up with Rif's pace as they trekked through the mountains above Comfrey. It was their third day in the town and Rif had convinced her to let him show her the places he had spent most of his childhood in. She had commissioned a pair of ladies' trousers, much like Min's, for the occasion. She had to admit, they would take some getting used to but were quite practical.

Rif had used gateways to take them to a number of places. Rock formations, caves, small waterfalls; they had all been beautiful. They were now walking the last distance to Rif's favorite place. She felt excitement brimming through the bond, and the child-like look on his face was so charming.

Finally, Rif moved a final branch to reveal a much larger waterfall cascading through a cleft in the overhead cliffs to settle into a large natural lake. Mist from the churning water formed a rainbow in the evening sunlight. Bode held onto Rif's arm, marveling at the tranquil beauty of the scene. A flash of amusement ran through the bond, prompting Bode to look at Rif, who was smiling a half-smile.

"I'm glad you like this," he said, gesturing at the lake, "but the real surprise is a little further." Rif moved his arm through her grasp until he held her hand in his own and guided her toward the waterfall. Only when they got closer did she notice the narrow gap between the water and cliff face that harbored a small path.

Rif gripped her hand tighter as he shimmied along the ridge. Bode tried not to look down, knowing the unpleasant fall that would await the slightest misstep. Eventually, the path widened into a large opening. Bode embraced the Source and wove a small light and gasped at the sight before her.

The cave walls, made of dark stone, were peppered with the impressions of sea creatures she had read about in the library of the White Tower. Starfish, conches, anemones, and countless others that glistened in the fluttering lights from the sun that shone through the waterfall. Bode gasped at the sight, clearly a preservation from the time when the Mountains of Mist had been seabed.

Bode felt Rif wrap his arm around her waist and she glanced at him, overcome with emotion.

* * *

Rif sighed in contentment at finally being able to bring Bode here. He had actually dreamed of this moment, when he could share this hidden treasure with her. Rif glanced at Bode when he felt a shift in the bond. She was looking at him with a gaze that … smouldered.

Bode grabbed the lapels of Rif's jacket, they had abandoned their Tower clothes for the trip, and pushed him against the cavern wall. "Bode, what're you-" Bode crashed her lips against his, kissing him with fire. After a moment of surprise, Rif reciprocated, losing himself in the passions of the woman he loved.

* * *

Bode sighed in contentment as she lay curled next to Rif on the beach of the lake. Hey had gone … further … than before in that cave, though not "in full" as the Accepted had called it. Rif had his arms wrapped around her, gently snoozing. Bode giggled and gently caressed his cheek.

They would have to get up soon. But for now, it was perfect.

* * *

Sumeko, Eldest of the Kin, sat writing at her desk. It was nearing sundown, the time when she always decided to stop her work. Best to keep out of the habit of over-working herself. As she put the finishing touches on her letter, a knock came at the door.

"Enter," Sumeko called. In stepped a Kinswoman escorting a courier. The man bowed his head with utter humility.

"Pardon any intrusion, Kinslady, but this was paid most well-like to be delivered to the head of the Kin." He passed her an envelope marked with the symbol of the Dragon Banner and the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. It was simply addressed to "The Eldest". Sumeko regarded it for a moment before fishing a silver mark out of her dress. The courier thanked her and left with his escorting Kinswoman.

Sumeko glanced out the window of her office; it was still some time before sundown. She opened the letter.

 _Eldest of the Kin,_

 _Words cannot describe the pride with which I look upon your organization. Cleaved from what you believe to be greatness, you have risen above the instinct of despair and forged something strong. Even bound by supposed secrecy, you acted as you believed to be right._

 _It may interest you to know that the Kin is more like the Aes Sedai of Old, of the Age of Legends, than the modern Aes Sedai themselves. In those days, ajahs were small, loose, shifting groups that formed for a specific purpose and then melted apart as the need drove them. The Aes Sedai had occupations outside channeling, outside the Hall of Servants as it was called then, and used channeling only to benefit others. Their lives defined them, not their title, just as they do you._

 _The Kin, whether through wondrous chance or the Will of the Wheel of Time, has preserved what it meant to be an Aes Sedai in the Second Age, at the height of what we once were. And for that I thank you, and hope that your example may help lead our modern equivalents into a great age of their own._

 _With greatest joy and respect,_

 _Rand al'Thor/Lews Therin Telamon_

 _The Dragon, Lord of the Morning, First Among Servants, Last of the Male Aes Sedai_

As she ended the letter, teardrops began to fall. Sumeko brushed her eyes and put the paper down, overcome by emotion. She had spoken with many about the Dragon Reborn's so-called "assimilation" with his former self, with the mind of Lews Therin Telamon. If the evidence hadn't been so overwhelming, she wouldn't have believed it. Now she was sure. And that he had done this so far in advance just to give she and her sisters hope; it was unbearably touching.

Sumeko embraced the Source and, with painstaking precision, wove a Keeping over the letter. It would be preserved as long as it could.

Over the next few days, the Knitting Circle would convene to discuss the letter; Queen Elayne was summoned to prove its authenticity, which she approved with a wide smile. The letter would be copied, the copies to be framed and sent to every home of the Kin. The original would be hidden in their archives for future Kinswomen to be guided by. The Kin would stay true to themselves, to their predecessors. It was what they did.

* * *

After dark, as Rif and Bode entered the inn, hand in hand, they stopped to find Tora speaking with a tall, weathered man with grey hair. He was Kerr, leader of the Huntsmen. He had helped raise Rif after his father had died. When the Huntsmen had first met Bode, they had all been quite friendly, if a little crass. But Kerr had stood out with his quiet demeanor and sense of wisdom. And the way he had treated Rif as a little boy had been adorable.

As Aes Sedai and Asha'man moved further into the inn, Tora took notice of them. Her expression softened upon seeing her son, then turned cold as ice upon seeing Bode. She quietly made an excuse to Kerr and left. The Huntsman sighed and stood, turning to face the pair with a small smile.

"Good night, Rif, Bodewhin Sedai," he said and left. Bode looked back to where Tora had disappeared. If she were honest with herself, she was a little hurt. In the time they had spent in Comfrey, Tora had shown absolutely no interest in getting to know her. It was as if Bode were a criminal and only she could see it.

Rif had explained to her that his mother, ever since he could remember, had had very little regard for Aes Sedai. Several years before, one of her serving girls had left to try and become Aes Sedai. She had returned several years later, having been put out of the Tower for being too weak. Upon returning home, Tora had apparently treated the girl as if she didn't exist.

Bode sighed as she remembered the story. But the feeling of Rif squeezing her hand brought her out of those gloomy thoughts. As they climbed the steps to her room, which they had decided to share, Bode resolved to speak to Tora about her attitude toward her.

* * *

In the Heart of the Stone of Tear, a place where no one could spy on them, Moiraine stood with Pevara, Logain, Cadsuane, Elayne, Nynaeve, and Sumeko, regarding the conundrum before them. This problem was the last of the Forsaken.

Bound by an _a'dam_ stood a handsome woman with shoulder-length dark hair. She had once had a regal air, according to Elayne, but that had been diminished by the various trials she had endured. Before them stood Moghedien.

During the abolition of the _a'dam_ , Min had identified the last of the Forsaken by the images she saw around her. This had been backed up by testaments of Elayne and Nynaeve. While Pevara and her Keeper, who were the only ones in the White Tower who knew of this, had been furious at their testimony of keeping a Forsaken captive in Salidar, Moiraine had brought up that the Aes Sedai were far from flawless. They had all done things that were at the very least regrettable, both during and before the Last Battle. The two had gotten off lightly, partly due to Moiraine's observations and partly due to their royal positions.

Now the most powerful channelers in the Westlands stood to decide this woman's fate. Sumeko had been for immediate execution, a motion seconded by Logain, but Elayne and Nynaeve had nullified that, pointing out Moghedien's value as a teacher, which they had used before. She could act as another Hessalam and restore lost knowledge to the White Tower, acting from a different perspective than the fanatically devoted hag. In that way, she could begin to help rebuild the world, to in the smallest way begin to atone for her crimes.

Pevara had pointed out that Moghedian's crimes deserved a far worse punishment than that, as well as the hypocrisy of keeping her in an _a'dam_ when the Seanchan Empire itself had banned the practice of collaring. No one mentioned severing, as that would render her useless. The Spider herself was remarkably quiet during the conversation.

The group had been in the Heart of the Stone for a good hour debating when a solution came. Hessalam walked briskly into the Heart of the Stone, carrying a _ter'angreal_ that resembled a mirror. The device had been built by Elayne with advice from the former Forsaken and allowed a subject to communicate with others from a great distance, projecting a user's image and voice to its twin.

Inside the mirror's image was Aviendha. She had decided to join them in the best way she could, one of her newborns held in her arms. The Wise One explained that Hessalam had located a store of _ter'angreal_ owned by the mysterious Moridin, located deep in what had once been the Blight.

Upon Aviendha's direction, Hessalam produced a familiar object, a long white rod of unknown composition. "A binding rod," the hag supplied. All assembled looked to each other in surprise. Moiraine, observant as always, didn't miss the flash of fear in the Spider's eyes. Elayne approached and took the a'dam, fixing Moghedien with a glare.

Cadsuane took the binding rod from Hessalam and approached, flanked by Pevara and Logain. Moiraine smiled inwardly. When Cadsuane was done with her, Moghedien would never even _think_ of betrayal again.

* * *

Bode, dressed in a plain woolen dress and her shawl, watched without seeming to as Tora ran her inn during the morning rush. She worked her serving maids firmly, yet fairly, and too no foolishness from anyone. Bode briefly wondered what would happen if she ever met Nynaeve.

As the patrons slowly began to trickle out and none came to replace them, Bode stood and approached Tora, who was speaking to a serving girl. One look from Bode sent the girl away, a trick all Aes Sedai learned fairly soon. Tora turned toward Bode and, like always, her eyes turned cold at the sight of her. Tora tried to dodge around her, as if she didn't exist, but bode stood in her way.

"Tora, I think it's high time we spoke," she said, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible. Tora raised an eyebrow, nothing more.

"I have nothing to say to you, Aes Sedai," she said, and tried again to move around. Bode blocked her again, her temper rising.

"Considering I may very soon become your daughter-in-law, I think you should come up with something!" she hissed. Surprisingly, Tora gave no reaction to the statement. That in and of itself drew Bode up short.

"You think that surprises me?" Tora asked. "I've seen the way you two look at each other since you've arrived." Tora's eyes took a cast of sadness. "I haven't seen two people more in love in some time." The hardness returned. "And I wish my boy happiness, especially since he deserves far more than one of you!" she spat, and succeeded in passing her.

Bode grabbed her arm, but Tora shook it off. Bode stood there stunned for just a moment before following the older woman. It must have been a sight to behold for the people of Comfrey, watching a clearly-furious innkeeper pursued by a young Aes Sedai. Those who were wise enough moved out of the way - those who weren't were nearly trodden over.

Eventually Tora entered a large graveyard set against the clifface that towered over the town. Bode, temper diminished by the furious pace, kept her distance as she watched Rif's mother kneel before a grave far away from the others, shaded by a large apple tree.

Bode approached quietly, using lessons Rif had given her in Seanchan, and looked over the grave. It was made of black stone, the inscription reading "Gone But Never Forgotten - Davian Arason". A sigil of an arrow crossed over a strung bow was carved into the gravestone, as well as a carving that looked far fresher: an intricate Dragon's Fang. The symbol of the Black Tower.

"Leave me, Aes Sedai," Tora said quietly. "Your kind have no right to be here." Bode swallowed nervously before kneeling next to the woman.

"Aes Sedai or no, I think I have a right to meet Rif's father," she said. Tora turned suddenly with a fearsome glare, her eyes shining with fury. She stood in one quick motion.

"Not when you're responsible for him being here in the first place," she whispered. Bode stood, eyes wide at what this woman was implying.

Tora moved toward her until their noses were almost touching, tears welling in her eyes. "It's because of you're kind that my son grew up not knowing his father. That I had to raise him alone." A single tear fell. "Because they came - and they killed him."

 **New chapter - enjoy.**

 **Bizzle: I truly appreciate your reviews and am overjoyed at you and others like my story. I can't promise faster updates (laptop issues + writing is hard work) but I will try.**


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Bode barely kept a straight face as she guided Tora toward a small grove of trees sitting within the graveyard. After her accusation, the ire and hate had seemed to drain out of the woman, replaced only by grief and sorrow. It had been almost disturbing, the transformation; seeing such a clearly strong woman wracked with dry sobs. And not only that, but the accusation itself.

Bode sat beside Tora, tears now flowing freely down the innkeeper's face, and tried to think of some way to explain what had happened. Aes Sedai could not kill - the Three Oaths forbid it. The only ones who could were Black sisters. And even now no one was sure exactly how many there had been. But a more pressing matter was Tora. Clearly she had been holding this pain inside for far too long.

"Mistress Arason," Bode said, hoping a distant title would keep her temper from flaring again, "please tell me what happened." Tora looked at her with something along the lines of loathing before that too drained away, revealing the cracks in the woman's strong front. Bode quickly suppressed the bond, some instinct telling her to be cautious.

Tora took a deep breath and began. "Around the time I became pregnant with Riften, my husband began acting oddly. He would have the most strange strokes of luck, his men saved and criminals captured in incredible ways. A few days later, he would get such strange symptoms, chills, dizziness, nausea; it was as if the Wheel itself were exacting a toll from him for those lucky moments.

"This went on for a month or two before he finally realized what was happening. He touched the True Source for the first time in our home." Tora breathed again, as if steeling herself. "A group of miners had come late into the inn. They had already been to at the bottle up in the mines and were clearly drunk. They demanded our finest ale, tossing nuggets of gold as payment. Any blind fool could tell they had stolen from the mines, so I refused.

"They got angry and attacked Davian, Riften's father. Dav told me to hide behind the bar as he fought them off. He was good, my Dav, always so strong, but there were many of them, a few armed with thick sticks. As they piled on top of him, a few broke away from the main group and came after me. I tried to run, but they got a hold of me and tried to …" Tora paused and swallowed thickly. "But before they could do anything real, a burst of wind drove through the common room, like a gale set free from a bottle. The miners were blown back hard. Most were injured, a few were even killed."

"And in the center of it all stood my Dav, the look of utmost wonder in his eyes as if seeing the face of the Creator himself. Then he vomited and collapsed in a heap of trembling and passed out." Tora took a hold of the amulet hanging between her breasts, like an arrowhead. "When he woke up, we talked about what happened, what that could have been. After a good hour of denial, we realized the truth …"

"Davian could channel," Bode finished, eyes wide. So riften's gift was in his blood, not just chance. Tora nodded.

"Dav tried his hardest to resist channeling. You wouldn't have thunk it from looking at him, at that bright smile and those soulful eyes, but he was always so disciplined. But he couldn't stop entirely." Bode shivered at the thought of being unable to channel, having to force yourself to resist for the sake of your health and sanity, for your wife and child.

"When Riften was born, it was a difficult one. It left me very weak and the town doctor said I wouldn't last through the night. But Dav didn't give up." Tora's eyes brightened at the memory. "He said he'd fight the Dark One himself to save me. And that's what he did." The shine faded back into sadness. "He used the Power to save me, acting on sheer bloody instinct, feeling it out to fix me up better than any doctor could. Tora smiled again. "As Riften grew, Dav was as great a father as you could get." Her smiled faded again.

"But it seems luck wasn't on our side. The whole town loved Dav, but we get a lot of people from different places in Andor looking to work in the mines or to buy the things we pull from the mountain. Whispers started to spread of a man who could channel living in Comfrey." Tora's eyes took a wrathful shine.

"Then _they_ came - the Aes Sedai." She clenched her fists in her apron and took a moment to continue. "They were four Red sisters and a White, all asking around for Dav by name. Eventually they wandered into the inn. They asked me about my husband being able to channel and I told them it was none of their business." Tora's eyes watered again.

"Dav came in at the absolute worst time. He came in smiling with a clutch of flowers. The Reds didn't even react―they just blasted him into the street. But Dav was resilient, that man. He had the Source prepared and threw fire at them, he threw waves of wind and even brought down lightning. But-" she bit off the sentence and took a shuddering breath, "but he wasn't trained to fight with the Power―the Reds were. They put him through the wringer and 'shielded' him. They talked amongst themselves and …"

Bode, after a moment's hesitation, placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. Tora looked to her and her gaze softened from burning fury to smoldering ire. "They lifted him by the throat, with nothing to see holding him, and twisted his head clean around like a chicken ready for plucking." Bode brought a hand to her mouth at the thought of Aes Sedai killing so … brutally.

Tora flicked her gaze down. "They didn't stay long after that." She sniffled and a single tear fell down her cheek. "We never told Riften what really happened. Kerr told him that Dav had died protecting a fellow Huntsman from rouges. I just-" she hesitated, "I couldn't bear the thought of my boy knowing that his father had been murdered. Murdered only for being who he was." Tora dazedly placed her hand over Bode's. "When he left to join the asha'man, I was afraid he would end up like Dav." She smiled warmly. "I only wish Dav had been alive to see him become who he is."

Bode swallowed, just now realizing her own tears threatening to fall. "Mrs. Arason," she said, "that will never happen to Rif. I swear to you, on everything that I am, I will never let that happen." Tora looked to her and seemed to almost smile.

"I believe you ..." a moment's hesitation, "Bodewhin Sedai." Bode smiled and embraced her future mother-in-law―wait, what?―as tightly as she could.

What neither of them saw was Riften, hiding behind a tree in full range of the story. Rif's eyes were wide as he tried to comprehend what he had learned. His father could channel?! And the Red Ajah had _murdered him_?! A plethora of emotions welled within Rif, fighting for dominance. After several moments, one remained: cold revenge. He had to know who had done this. And then he would make them pay.

Rif quickly wove a gateway to the one place he could find answers: the White Tower's library.

* * *

Jur drummed his fingers against his arm, a nervous habit his mother had told him off about since he was a boy. At the moment, he was quite nervous. He and three other Telamons were accompanying the Lord Logain in this quite-sensitive endeavor. A report from the first of the Turned Asha'man to be cured, or "Re-Turned" as it was rapidly being named. Before them, on the opposite side of the wide, dark oak table used for audiences, was Donalo Sandomere.

On the very surface, Sandomere looked just like had had before the crisis: grizzled hair, creased farmer's face, oiled beard trimmed to a point, garnet in his left ear. But under all the familiarity was that haunted look in his eyes, as if he had seen his whole world burn before his eyes or betrayed those closest to him to the slaughteryard. Which, in a way, was partially true.

The Ogier had kept Sandomere safe as he recovered from Nynaeve Sedai's Healing, just as they did to the others who were being Healed or awaited it. It had been a number of days before Sandomere had achieved the will to move around on his own and weeks before he was fit enough to leave the _stedding_. And now, only a few days after his return here he was, ready to make a surprise report. He had said it was important, and Logain had believed him.

Sandomere breathed deep and sighed, then looked Logain straight in the eye, an improvement over his state in the _stedding_ ―if a shade of what he had been before the Turning. "I wish to report what I heard whispered among the Dreadlords before the Last Battle, Lord Logain," he said without preamble. Logain's eyebrow shot up at this news, but otherwise his expression remained unchanged.

"Sandomere," he said evenly, "little of what they knew is relevant to us now. The Last Battle was won, the Dark One defeated. The armies of Shadowspawn, what remains of them anyway, are destroyed or close to it. The Dreadlords are the same, those Turned slowly being Re-turned. What do you believe was so important to report?" He seemed genuinely curious, not just humoring the man who had glimpsed the abyss and barely been pulled back.

Sandomere smiled tiredly. "I learned how Taim did it; how his men became so strong, so skillful, so fast," he revealed. Logain sat straighter at that, his eyes widened with interest. Sandomere's mouth quirked in a quick smile before fading back to an overall tired expression.

"I heard the Dreadlords speaking of it after I was Turned. It involved linking." All attending Telamons were listening now. All except Jur himself had bonded Aes Sedai, or been bonded by them. They had all felt the advantages of being linked, a skill only useable if women were involved.

"The men that took up Taim's 'private lessons'," Sandomere continued, "would first be taught how to join a circle. Members of the Black Ajah, supplied by orders of the Forsaken, would link the 'student' and Taim. With his knowledge of _saidin_ , he would then force them as we all were, pushing their ability to hold the Power to it limits without the chance of burning them out. At the same time, he would teach them weaves he had learned from the Forsaken. Demandred was one, and another called Osan'gar." Sandomere glanced to the side for a moment, as if debating something. "I think this 'Osan'gar' may have been Dashiva, bit I'm not certain."

Logain settled and placed a hand over his mouth, mulling over what he had just learned. He nodded to himself has he came to a decision. "Well done, Sandomere." He stood and moved to stand before the man. "Go home and get some rest. Whenever you feel you are ready, you may return to service." Sandomere smiled and nodded with an asha'man salute before leaving.

"Are you certain he is ready to resume duty so soon, Lord Logain?" Narishma asked. Logain hesitated before nodding.

"The Turning, according to Lord Perrin Aybara, dulled the victim's sense of creativity and foresight. If he had not been cured, he likely would have betrayed us the moment he had been free of the stedding." A smirk quirked at the side of his mouth. "Besides, are you really going to question Nynaeve Sedai's handiwork?" Narishma's eyes widened and he glanced away in embarrassment. Jur couldn't tell if Logain had been referring to Nynaeve curing the Madness or her still-remarkable temper. Either way, it got the desired effect - all of the attendees laughed.

* * *

Rif slid his hand along the leatherbound spines of the books in the White Tower's library, eyes moving almost frantically over the titles. As an Asha'man, he had been granted access to areas normally forbidden to non-Aes Sedai. Though it seemed there was still much they wanted to keep hidden.

After overhearing the true story of his father's passing, Rif had wrestled for a moment with the white-hot rage that had risen within his chest before it settled into a cold fury. He had woven a gateway to the White Tower and kept himself suspended in the Void to prevent Aes Sedai from noticing him.

As Rif finished this particular bookshelf, he clicked his tongue in agitation. There were records alright; an organization as old as the White Tower didn't last as long as it did without them. But these ranged from histories to taxes. Not the things he was looking for―things that the White Tower would want to keep hidden.

Like an arrow striking a target, it hit him exactly how unlikely it was that he could find the information he needed, especially if it was guarded by the Brown Ajah. Getting his hands on this would require a miracle or the luck of the Raven Prince, an expression that was rapidly replacing the "luck of the Dark One." Rif paused as he thought back to his first night in Ebou Dar, to that seemingly unnatural win against the Raven Prince himself.

Acting on intuition, Rif seized the Source and walked toward one of the Brown Ajah librarians rifling through records. Rif focused on her, on his need for answers, and asked her if there were instances of Aes Sedai killing men who could channel without the customary trial. After a long second of hesitation, Rif felt that quick headache, like a spike being driven into his forehead, or rather he felt it outside the Void.

As if a spigot had been turned on, the Brown began explaining about the Pogrom, an extended event also known as the Vileness, in which Aes Sedai later realized as the Black Ajah began killing men and boys who could, and even who might be able to channel. Supposedly it lasted six years and ended with an official record of seven men genteled, though the unofficial record was closer to twenty, and the secret records recorded _two thousand_ men and boys gentled or killed. The secret record were in the Thirteenth Depository, in a locked room deep in the library.

As soon as she finished, the Brown's eyes widened in fear, as if she had just admitted to mass murder. In a moment of panic outside the Void, Rif willed her to forget what she had done. The headache lanced through his head, stronger than before and causing him to wince even in the Void. As soon as it faded, the Brown's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed. Rif knelt and Delved her, finding her to have simply fainted. _Well, it's definitely me,_ he thought, the coincidence just too high.

Rif quickly wove Folded Light, making himself invisible, and headed in the direction the Brown had pointed out. He came across a locked door, easily unbolted with a thread of Air, and descended the steps beyond. Eventually he came to another door, unbolted with more difficulty, and felt his vambrace go ice-cold as he opened the door. _Wards and traps_ , he thought grimly, grateful for that _ter'angreal_ that dissolved weaves.

Past the door was a stone room with more book shelves. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be organized by date; he worked from the front to the back. He wondered why a secret set of record would be so easily organized, then determined that even Aes Sedai wouldn't force complexity where it wasn't needed. Especially in a place that was supposedly secret.

After several minutes of searching the shelves, Rif finally found something that looked promising. _A Record of the Red Folly_ , it said. Rif removed it, surprised by the size, and opened it to try and find his father's entry. The volume contained the names of each man that had been victim of the pogrom, as well as their age, occupation, location, family members, date of severing or death, and any sisters that were thought involved.

The listing, however, seemed to be in no particular order, forcing Rif to rifle through the book without leaving any trace of his use on it. On impulse, he seized the Source once more and focused on the book, on his father's name. It took a moment, but the headache came, far stronger than before. Rif bit back a shout of pain and clutched his head, the Void lost and the book falling from his grasp. The headache faded, but a subdued throbbing remained. Perhaps using this mysterious ability too often caused worse pain?

Rif tried to regulate his breathing and picked up the book again. His eyes widened as he saw his father's name. On the page he was facing, near the end of the volume. _Davian Arason: twenty-four—Huntsman—Comfrey, Andor—Killed during self-defense 983 NE_. Most of the names of involved sisters were marked out with a thin line, indicating their death; he didn't recognise those names anyway.. Most of those were marked with a symbol that referred to the Black Ajah. The ink for the symbols looked newer, as if recently added. Likely they were added after Verin Sedai's had given Egwene al'Vere her research on the topic, an event that all members of both Towers knew of. The woman deserved remembrance for her efforts.

Rif's gaze settled on the one name in his father's entry that was not scratched out or marked: _Cariandre Temalien_. That was a name he knew all too well. Memories surfaced of the pretty Red who had forcibly bonded him. She was supposedly serving her penance for that on a farm in the Black Hills. Rif quickly replaced the book and left the secret room, making sure everything was as he had left it. His vambrace going icy again proved the wards were still active. Before leaving the library, Rif checked a map of Andor that focused on the Black Hills and found Jara Doweel's farmstead. Destination in mind, he could Skim there with ease.

Rif headed for the Tar Valon Traveling grounds, mind abuzz with possibilities and strategies to find Cariandre and confront her with what she had done. Would he hurt her? No, that would simply prove what she had thought about him. Perhaps he could sever her. Make her feel that hollow emptiness that he could only imagine. Take her reason to live in exchange for his father's genuine life. His planning was halted by a familiar voice.

"Going somewhere, Rif?" Bode asked. Rif turned around as if guilty, and perhaps some part of him was; some small part strangled with righteous fury. Rif smoothed his features and kept his gaze level, even to the woman he loved.

"I'm going to the Black Hills," he said, emotions again freely flowing through the bond granting better communication than speaking ever could. Bode's eyebrow shot up, hrne her eyes softened.

"Rif, I know you heard about your father-"

"You know," he said harshly, "yet you don't understand. Your family, your whole family, is alive and well. Your home is better than it ever has been. You have lost next to nothing in life, Bode!" Rif felt his throat close up as sorrow dowsed the flames of his rage. "I grew up not knowing my father because of them. Because of her. And many boys lost their father, wives their husbands, parents their sons because of what happened. My father didn't deserve to be murdered. And the Aes Sedai got away with almost no punishment for it." Rif huffed a sigh after the rant, his anger building back up.

Bode looked at him with caring eyes, the bond radiating sadness and love. "Nothing you do will bring him back, Rif. And trying to punish Cariandre will do no good. She won't care that she hurt your father, or you, and she can't be made to." bode approached and placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb caressing the side of his face.

"Please, Rif. You're scaring me. This isn't the Riften I know." He could feel it. She was truly scared of him; scared _for_ him. "Please rif, the Aes sedai won't forgive you for attacking one of them a second time. Last time it was her own fault, but this time it will be yours. Please …" her eyes began to water, "please don't do this."

Seeing that, seeing bode begin to cry for his own sake, for the sake of his soul, Rif felt his fury drain away, the flames doused by the rainfall of his love for her. Rif relaxed, his mind clearing, the ache of horror at what he had been planning settling in. He felt like a monster. Perhaps this was what the Lord Dragon had felt when he came to his senses. Rif felt pity for the man and felt a tear fall from his eye.

* * *

Bode sighed as she felt Rif's ire fade away. She gently kissed his cheek and took his hand, guiding him along. It was time to go back to Comfrey and put all of this behind them. The Hall would be pleased to hear that she had talked her wayward Asha'man down when she reported in that evening.

Though some small part of her felt like something was wrong. One crisis was averted, but something was still to come. Something big.

* * *

In his quarters of the Black Tower, Karl looked over his maps and diagrams for the final stage of his plan. The time was coming. Arason was due to report in for assignment within a week. Finally, after all this time, the beauty of his plots would bloom into fruition.

The weak would burn, the useless crumble. Only the strong would survive. And he would make sure he was strongest of all.

 **What's this? Two updates in two days? I was ahead of schedule and decided to thank ya'll for you support.**

 **I'm going to be honest, this was going to extend for some time and take us to Malkier to have Nynaeve beat some sense into Rif, but that would make it far too long. The part I'm really looking forward to is yet to come.**

 **Thanks guys. Leave a review about what ya'll thought. What is happening to Rif that he just got lucky? What is Zavier's plan? Wait and see - It's awesome!**


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

 _Algarin Pendaloin, known to his brothers in the Black Tower by his brother's name, Emarin, sat on a cushioned chair on the verandah of his small house in Shar'aman, watching his grandchildren play with the other children of the Black Tower. Beside him sat his oldest grandson, dressed in the pinless black coat of a soldier, trying to light a fire to cook dinner for the evening._ Some part of Algarin knew he was dreaming, but it hardly mattered.

 _Suddenly, Algarin felt a chill rise from the ground, the atmosphere darken like a cloud blocking the sun._ This happened sometimes, he had found. All throughout his life this had happened, say, once a year. Dreams of things that may come to pass. It had happened far more often since he joined the Black Tower, as if responding to his accepting that last part of himself. The books delivered by the late Rand al'Thor had described it as a Talent called "Dreaming".

 _The children disappeared as if they had never been there. Algarin yelped as he felt blazing heat burn him and turned to find himself standing several feet from his home, the house burning as if possessed. The dream shifted and he saw all of Shar'aman burning, a small group of men in_ dark grey _coats cackling as they led all of the asha'man away in chains._

 _The dream shifted again and he saw the same thing happening in Tar Valon, the White Tower crumbling before him as the Aes Sedai were led away._

 _The dream shifted a final time and a small group were watching the Towers burn from the top of a cliff. A large weasel with black fur and white markings on its collar bone. A white cat with red highlights along its head and neck, clutching a silvery chain in its mouth. And at the end of the chain was a black dog, a friendly-looking creature that radiated sorrow and shame. The weasel and cat looked to the dog, who flinched in fear. Both animals cackled with disturbingly human voices._

Algarin sat up, jolted from his vision by the terror he had felt. Parts of the dream were unmistakable. Both of the Great Towers were in terrible danger, but the danger could be narrowly avoided with the right intervention. The Towers would be betrayed by a member of each, using a loyal Asha'man as a tool.

Other parts were not clear. Who were these traitors? Who would be used against the Black Tower? How would they be tricked or forced into attacking? Why would these two do all of this in the first place? After a moment of contemplation, Algarin decided what he didn't know would reveal itself in time. All they could do now was praise the creator that they had been warned and use their time wisely.

Algarin quickly got dressed and headed for Lord Logain's home. He would not likely appreciate the late hour, it was sometime before dawn, but he needed to know. And Light help them when this came to pass.

* * *

Rif sat at the small table used for dining in his home at the Black Tower. He, Bode and Alivia had spent a few more days in Comfrey after his "breakdown", as Alivia called it. Rif had spoken to his mother, who had told him the true story of his father in person. After that, Bode and she had cleared the air and come to something of an understanding. It had made their remaining time their satisfyingly less awkward.

After Comfrey, and his mother's assurances that all three of them would be welcome there and her interrogations as to when she would see her grandchildren "as she wasn't getting any younger" were over, Alivia had woven the gateway to the Black Tower for the end of Rif's Pilgrimage. The Pilgrimage was a choice given to those newly raised to the dragon pin, a chance to see and experience the world they had pledged themselves to protect. Rif's was ending, so his official duties, whatever they were, were to begin shortly.

But that was not the focus of Rif's thoughts at the moment. At the moment, he was considering the leather vambrace decorated with coin-like _ter'angreal_. He had given his "breakdown" a lot of thought over the last few days. He had come to terms with his father's death, with the fact that he had let anger cloud his judgement. And he had wondered very strongly on what he had done to make that Brown tell him heavily-guarded secrets so easily, to make her faint, and to point him to the precise page he needed when he had needed it.

But right now, he thought about the wards. He should have seen them coming, should have known that the Aes Sedai would protect their secrets with the One Power. And yet, without the paralis-net, specifically the fox-engraved coin that dissolved weaves, he would at best be hurt; at worst, he would be dead many times over.

Rif ran a finger over the leather that kept the fox-coin in place. It was sealed in, and the leather was Power-treated, very durable. Plus, he didn't want to damage the vambrace anyway. On impulse, Rif channeled a thin flow of Spirit at the edge of the coin. The leather surrounding it reacted, absorbing the flow and … receding. The vambrace seemed to gently vibrate and the leather receded until the fox-coin popped from the surrounding leather, allowing it to grow back over and leave nothing but a slight indent in its wake.

Rif picked up the fox-coin, which was larger than he had realized, and ran a thumb over it. At the very top, previously concealed by the leather of the vambrace, was a small hole. An idea sprung to mind and Rif quickly left the house, headed for the town's market. Specifically the smithies.

* * *

Alivia, dressed in a sturdy black dress with silver at the hems, stood across a large circle dug in the ground from one of the Black Tower's initiates, a newly-raised Dedicated. The boy, who couldn't have had to shave more than once a week, fingered his sword nervously. Alivia smirked; her reputation preceded her. Even the formerly so-called weapons were wary of her. A circle of other Dedicated and an Asha'man instructor watched on from the outside of the circle.

The Dedicated's eyes took on that steely cast that Alivia had long-since associated with their "Void" and prepared to strike. She embraced the Source and wove a series of weak bursts of Fire; no need to hurt the boy. The Dedicated sliced them out of the air, correctly guessing the placement of her weaves. What he didn't see was the threads of Earth she had eased into the ground. The dirt underneath her opponent exploded, sending him into the air; he landed with a thud and a groan, not seriously hurt.

"Take that as a lesson, men," the instructor said, voice amplified by the Power. "Battle is not choreographed, it is not planned, it is not fluid. It is chaotic and the smallest thing can go wrong. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. As soldiers and more we must remember to be fluid, adaptable. Always plan, but never become set in it. Prepare by preparing to improvise. Dismissed." The Dedicated class gave that asha'man salute and dispersed to whatever they did in their spare time.

Alivia left as well and began wandering about the town of Shar'aman, eventually settling in a small tavern. She ordered the best punch they had, made from fruit grown within the Tower's walls. Before she could pay, a hand clapped a silver crown down before her. "Keep the change," a young voice said. Alivia turned to find a young Andoran man, with dark hair and a thin beard. He looked to Alivia with a small smile and nursed his own drink.

"Thank you," she said. The man shrugged.

"Wouldn't be right to let a lady have to pay for her own," he said matter-of-factly. Alivia quirked and eyebrow and smiled. This man was polite and … she supposed he was handsome. She still wasn't very good at judging that. She decided that he was pleasant to look at and left it there. She held her drink in one hand and her other hand out to him.

"Alivia," she introduced. The man chuckled and shook it.

"Jaim Torfinn," he responded, "and I know who you are. Everyone who has been to the Tower from before the Last Battle knows who you are."

"Really," Alivia said, "and what do you know of me?" Jaim quirked his mouth to the side, looking guilty.

"They say you were a damane freed from the armies of the Seanchan, loyal to Rand al'Thor who freed you. They say you're as powerful as a woman can be, but don't care about your power. And they say you know nothing of men." By the end he was blushing, his forehead beaded with sweat. Alivia felt something stir within her belly. Could one think a man was … adorable? Had Min said that?

"Well, um …" she said, "I have to admit that for once the gossip is true," she admitted, though she couldn't say why. A thought came to her; a wicked thought that would make Min proud when she told this story. "Are you familiar with the slowing that happens to channelers?" she asked innocently. Jaim nodded. How old am I?" she asked sweetly.

Jaim started, then swallowed nervously, eyes flicking all over her face. He winced, his mouth twisted in an almost pained expression. "Early forties?" he hazarded, "Give or take a few?" Alivia kept her gaze level, a smile playing at her lips just as Min had taught her.

"That's sweet, but try just over four-hundred," she said. Jaim choked on his drink, coughing for a few moments before fixing Alivia with a disbelieving look.

"There's no way," he said. Alivia shrugged. Since being freed from the _a'dam_ , she had learned how amazing the Power could be. Jaim regarded her with narrowed eyes, brushing his chin with his thumb.

"Can I buy you another drink?" he asked. Alivia smiled.

"You can buy me two," she answered.

* * *

Bode hummed a tune she had learned in the White Tower as she climbed the steps to Rif's house, a small stack of books recommended by Gabrelle balanced in her hands. A quick flick of Air opened the door and closed in behind her. She looked around to find Rif, knowing he was close, and found him snoozing on the small sofa in the living area.

Bode gently placed her books on the ground and approached, marveling at the man she loved. He looked so peaceful, his lips curled into a calm, natural smile. On impulse, Bode knelt and ran her fingers through his hair. He seemed to react to her touch, neck craning to feel more of her. Bode giggled, knowing full-well that she must appear a lovesick fool. And they would be half-right; she was lovesick.

Rif's eyes fluttered open and he glanced at her, cheeks coloring. He smiled and sat up, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. "Good …" he glanced at the window and noted the setting sun, "evening," he finished. Bode chuckled.

Rif's eyes brightened like they did when he remembered something important and he pulled her down next to him. "I have a gift for you, Bode," he said, pulling a small box out of his pocket, one that would store a small piece of jewelry. Bode took it and looked at him. He nodded in consent. Bode opened the box to find a pendant on a silvery chain. Bode gasped in joy and lifted it up to the light. Wait, why did this seem familiar?

Bode looked down to Rif's vambrace, confirming her suspicions. "Is this a ter'angreal?" she asked. Rif nodded with a wry grin.

"Call it peace of mind for me," he said. "If you wear this, at least I know something can't hurt you." Bode felt her cheeks darken, gratitude swelling in her chest. This ter'angreal was priceless to anyone, channeler or no. That he would give it to her was an amazing gift, as well as a show of unshakable trust.

Rif took the necklace, prompting Bode to turn so he could fasten it around her neck. It nestled perfectly above her breasts, feeling as natural as could be. Bode looked back at Rif, joy and love swelling inside, as well as something _else_. Before she could change her mind, she took Rif's hand and led him to the master bedroom. A quick flick of Air locked the door to make sure they weren't interrupted.

Alivia would have to make her own arrangement for the night.

* * *

Alivia hummed in contentment, wrapped in Jaim's arms as he snored lightly. To think she had been forced to miss out on … _that_ for four centuries. What a wasted time. She brushed her nails along the young man's chest, causing him to hold her tighter. She nestled back into his embrace, more content than she could remember ever being. This young man made her feel … secure. And that was a wonderful thing. She felt she could get used to this.

* * *

Rif snored lightly as he held Bode, his arms wrapped around her waist. He felt more relaxed, more at peace than ever before. And he had felt through the bond, before Bode fell asleep in his arms, that she felt the same. And that just made it better, better than any pair of non-channelers could feel.

He continued to doze until something brushed against his consciousness. He shifted a little, nuzzling his cheek into Bode's hair, but it happened again. Rif breathed deep and lifted his head a little, unsure if he was dreaming or not. There it was again, some feeling of impending danger. Now fully awake, Rif carefully moved away from Bode, thankfully not waking her. He placed a soft kiss on her temple before slipping on his trousers and boots, his coat and sword in his hands.

Rif left the house, open coat revealing his shirtlessness and sword buckled in place. He had even spared a moment to buckle on his paralis-net. Rif looked around at the side street lit by lamps that used the One Power to burn. The feeling brushed against him again; he could almost hear his name. Rif followed the feeling through the streets of Shar'aman, the cold night air making him regret getting out of bed. Regret leaving Bode's side.

After a while he had left the buildings behind by some distance as he appraoched the site of the Black Tower's construction. He looked around, the feeling suddenly gone. He turned, feeling like a fool in multiple ways, before a tingling broke out along his arms. At the same time, he felt his vambrace heat up. A woman was channeling near him, and she was not happy.

After a long moment, a figure walked into the lamplight around the site. As they drew closer, Rif recognized … him. "Zavier?" Rif asked, suddenly on alert. Zavier grinned maliciously, and weaves of fire darted from him. Rif seized the Source and sliced the weaves out of the air, reflex taking over. In return, Rif shot arrows of Air, a trick he had developed in the Two Rivers.

And so the two fought, firing weaves at each other and slashing their opponents out of the air when not dodging them. Rif briefly noticed a huge ward against noise woven around the area, muffling the noise of their fight. So Zavier had planned this out, had he? Rif decided to end it.

Rif wove an inverted Deathgate and sent it hurtling toward Zavier, who reacted with a shout of surprise and leapt to the side. As he did, he failed to notice the threads of Earth Rif had sowed; jerked them up in an explosion of soil. Alivia had shown him that and he had worked it out himself. Zavier landed with a loud thud and deep groan of pain.

Rif approached cautiously. In his experience with the man from their time at the White Tower, he knew the Cairhienin to be exceedingly arrogant, but also quite wily. Rif nudged him with his boot, to which the man barely moved. Rif knelt and Delved him, seeing nothing but bruises forming. Meh, let them form. He deserved it. Rif stood and released the Source, turning for home. His report could wait until the morning.

One thing niggled at him, though. He had felt a woman channeling, so where …? His train of thought was cut off by a shield cutting him off from the True Source. Rif spun around to see another unwelcome familiar face. Irella, the Accepted from the White Tower. He noticed the red belt across her torso that marked her as a Kinswoman. He couldn't make himself feel pity for her.

Rif felt _saidin_ being channeled and shouted as he was lifted by the ankle into the air and dropped unceremoniously. He leapt to his feet to find Zavier standing. They were … working together? When did that happen?!

"He's shielded?" Zavier said. Irella nodded with a grim smile. Rif saw and then felt another shield slide into place as the first dissolved. Now Zavier was maintaining it. Irella approached with something in her hand, something metal. He waited before she was a few steps away before acting.

Rif drew upon the Well in his paralis-net and forced her back with a small weave of Wind, then used Spirit to slice the shield away. In that moment of distraction when the weave collapsed back into Zavier, he seized the Source and sent threads of Air to wrap around Zavier's ankles and lift him up, just as he had done. He was about to slam the smug noble into the ground, courtesy and restraint be burned, when he felt something cold click around his neck and _saidin_ melted from his grasp. Rif felt at his neck, finding a metal band secured firmly above his collar bone.

Rumors and descriptions from Asha'man reports flooded into his mind, fear knitting them together. He knew what this was. Unbidden, Rif cried out in fear. He knew what this was! How had this happened?! HOW?!

All of this ran through his head before he felt the manacle force him to his knees, pain racing through him like molten lead in his veins. His vocal cords seized up, preventing him from crying out. All that escaped was a pained groan.

Zavier and Irella walked into his field of vision, Irella's smaller metal bracelet catching the eye. Zavier sneered and struck Rif across the face. Irella let him fall as he felt blood trickle down his chin. Zavier knelt down in his view, that sneer more terrifying than Rif remembered.

"Who's stronger now, eh, Arason?" he asked lowly. "Let's have some fun."

 **Scary enough? Leave a review, tell me what you think.**


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Bode stirred and opened her eyes at a sense of … danger. It took her a moment to realize that it was coming from the bond. Rif? Bode sat up and tried to focus on those emotions. She turned to find the bed empty. Focus underlined with caution radiated from him, wherever he was, muted by his supreme concentration that acted as a natural partial-masking. He was fighting someone? And he was still in the Black Tower.

Bode quickly got dressed and left the house, using the bond to guide her. She stopped when she felt Rif's emotions settle and slowed her pace, then started again when he seemed to resume the fight. Bode was confident Rif could handle whatever he was dealing with, but a little help never hurt anyone. Nothing could have prepared her for what came next.

As Bode felt herself draw near Rif's location, a wave of mortal terror blazed through the bond, almost making her shriek herself. An explosion of physical pain followed, causing her to stumble. A small part of her had the sense to mask the bond, to cut off the pain, before she began running again, this time even faster than before.

Bode embraced the Source and wove a string of weaves in rapid succession: a weave to mask her channeling, an inverted Folding of Light to render her invisible, and a weave Rif had helped her develop that masked her footfalls. She burst into the clearing before the unfinished Black Tower to see Rif struggling on the ground, writhing in pain before two very familiar faces.

Irella and Zavier? What were they doing here? Irella had her hand out as if channeling, but Bode couldn't see anything that would hurt Rif. Before she decided to stop this herself, Rif relaxed. Zavier and Irella began talking, the sounds easily picked up by Bode's _saidar_ -enhanced hearing.

"I have to admit, Zavier, your plan worked perfectly," Irella said with a smirk.

"Commoners have always been curious. And this one seems to have a passion for attracting danger. Come, come, Irella. We have more to do."

Irella frowned. "He doesn't know this place well enough to make a gateway yet, and neither do I. I doubt you do either."

Zavier narrowed his eyes. "Then we Skim." He seemed to think on something. "To Tear first, I think. It's as good a place as any." Irella nodded and Rif stood with a sound of pain, his movements jerky and stiff. A gateway opened and the duo entered followed by Rif before it closed.

Bode let her weaves dissolve, but one image stayed in her mind. The glint of metal around Rif's neck. It couldn't be … no, they didn't exist. Did they? But the feelings she had shared with Rif, that terror and the pain. And humiliation, like an animal forced to act for entertainment. Bode reverted to Aes Sedai training and calmed herself; now was not the time to make a mistake, not with Rif in such danger.

Bode wove a gateway that came out a few feet away. As soon as she left it, now fully aware of the area, she wove a second one to the White Tower. If she was right, the Amyrlin Seat must be warned.

* * *

Rif felt himself close to weeping as walked into a square in Tear, his limbs moving without consent. Moving only because of the collar at his neck. A sad bracelet, a Domination Band, a male _a'dam_! He had read about them, briefly, at the Black Tower. The late Lord Dragon had written about them quite … thoroughly. And now he was trapped in his own mind, a slave to the wearer of the bracelet, to Irella.

Rif felt himself stop in the middle of the square. Despite the early hour, people milled about, giving a token space to the man in the long coat. It galled him that Zavier had taken his black coat, the symbol of who he had become. Rif hesitated on this next part, a pause that was met with searing pain, waves of burning agony that coursed through his body. He couldn't scream, but he could shout.

"Aes Sedai!" he shouted, his voice ragged and fueled by torture, "You murdered my father!" Zavier had interrogated him about the rumors within the Black Tower that his father had been gentled by Aes Sedai. "And you Asha'man protect them like guard dogs!" Irella had been very explicit in what he was to say. "Come forth and face judgement, or else!" Rif groaned as he seized _saidin_ without wanting, the weaves for lances of Fire and flying blades of Wind ripping from hm like a hurricane, destroying buildings and putting people in a panic.

Rif was forced to lift his arm, Arrows of Fire darting out and shredding buildings. At the sound of a shout, Rif was allowed to turn his head to see a group of Aes Sedai and Asha'man pouring from a gateway. A Shield of Air sprung around him, deflecting lightning and fireballs. Rif cringed as he was used to weave a gateway and step through it, leaving his unwilling adversaries where they stood.

* * *

Irella giggled to herself as she commanded Arason to weave a Blossom of Fire in Illian. They had visited Mayene, Cairhien, and Jahannah in Ghealdan already and the day was nearly over. Arason was nearly exhausted. He was so strong! More than Bodewhin, certainly more than herself or Zavier. More than the Amyrlin Seat could ever hope to be!

As Asha'man and a group of Companions charged to meet him, Irella nodded for Zavier to weave a gateway away from Illian. She forced Arason to run for them and through the gateway before she moved through it and it shut, allowing them to rest in an inn in Whitebridge.

Irella commanded Arason to release the Source and lay down on the floor, savoring his humiliation spidered through with threads of relief. The young man was panting, sweat pouring down his face despite the cool air. Zavier approached and knelt, placing his hand on Arason's forehead, presumably Delving him. A sadistic smile crept across his face.

"He's fine, just exhausted. He'll be ready to move again on the morrow." Irella smiled at that and regarded the metal bracelet at her wrist. The idea of the _a'dam_ had originally disgusted her, but this … this Domination Band was a true piece of art. With these, when she rebuilt the White Tower, the male channelers would always be kept in line.

Careful to keep Arason himself in line, Irella got ready for bed. Today was just a testing run to get a handle on _saidin_ and to sow a little chaos. Tomorrow, it was time to settle an old score. Those who had been handed prestige on a platter would learn that life was not so easy.

* * *

Pevara Tazanovni, clad in the stole of the Amyrlin, grimly studied the maps before her. Logain, her male counterpart, sat on the other side of the oaken table being used for a desk in the Stone of Tear. It had been agreed as part of the Al'Vere Pact that crises involving both Towers would be settled between both leaders in a neutral location. The Stone of Tear had worked for the signing, and King Sisnera had agreed to let it remain as their common ground.

Reports had been flooding in all day about a rogue male channeler attacking cities across the Westlands at random. Logain seemed strained at this progressing news. Even with Bodewhin's testimony about a male _a'dam_ , which Logain had verified was a true device, Riften's actions would inevitably set the Asha'man acceptance back some ways, perhaps to the beginning.

Bodewhin had arrived early that morning to report on her Warder's kidnapping and enslavement and asking Androl to report to Logain. Logain had corroborated the existence of the male _a'dam_ and reported on the apparent mastermind and pseudo- _sul'dam_ , Karl Zavier and Irella Bathor.

As well as reporting the situation, Bodewhin had requested, quite vehemently, that she be allowed a chance to handle the situation. She claimed to have a plan, one that would involve as little bloodshed as possible. Both leaders had understandably been hesitant to allow a newly-raised woman to handle a situation with such … overwhelming consequences, but Androl had spoken in her defense and seconded her request. In the end, both had acceded.

Pevara studied the reports and the map that had been drawn up of Zavier's targets and the times they had been attacked. She was excellent at seeing patterns, better than she gave herself credit for, but she could see nothing that might indicate planning. It seemed they were attacking at random.

Pevara sighed in frustration. Whatever that girl was planning, she had better act fast.

* * *

Rif struggled to control his breathing as he was forced to sneak his way through stone halls. This was insane! Utterly and completely insane! There was no way this would go as planned! But did these two listen to him? No, they did not. And he was forced to go along with this mad scheme and take the brunt of it.

Rif, against his will, opened the doors to a spacious bedchamber, revealing stone walls covered in furs, a roaring fireplace, and a large oak bed occupied by two sleeping monarchs. The king and queen of Malkier. This was insanity!

Rif cringed as he was used to channel a blade of Air that spun lazily, like a swordsman idly twirling his weapon before a duel. He split it into two and, like lightning, they plunged downward. The effect was immediate.

The blades dissolved like ink in a river and the king, Lan, shot out of the bed, his sword unsheathed and flashing toward him. Rif barely had time to bring his own blade, already bare, up to defend himself. Rif was channeled through again, and the weave dissolved again.

Surprisingly, Rif was given free reign to move and was glad for it. He could barely keep his sword in his hands as he tried in vain to fend off his opponent. Everyone knew the reputation of al'Lan Mandragoran, a blademaster of the highest order who had slain Demandred himself. Rif stood less of a chance than he had against Lord Galad all those months ago.

Even with all his focus on King Lan, Irella continued to use him to fire weaves off at the king and his risen queen. In a flash, Lan disarmed him and knocked him back, slamming him into the wall of the bedchamber. Rif coughed and groaned, his entire body feeling bruised.

Even through all of that, he still took note of his surroundings. It seemed Nynaeve Sedai had somehow discovered his captors through the Folded Light they had woven and was fighting them. Or, more accurately, Irella had been stunned and Zavier fought the queen while she batted them around. Like with the king, Zavier's weaves dissolved when they touched her. All she had to do was keep up the offensive. That didn't seem difficult for the famously strong woman.

As Lan struck for Zavier, Rif felt his muscles act, pushing himself up. He was forced to fire weaves at the royals yet again. What was the point?! It was clear they wouldn't be stopped. He cringed as he was used to make a gateway while planting threads of Earth within the stone floor. He yanked them up to make cover while Irella and Zavier fled, dragging him with them.

* * *

Alivia watched closely as Bodewhin focused on her bond with Riften, her doubled bond, to divine the Asha'man's location. Alivia marvelled at the girl who smiled so often, who rarely seemed to be affected by anything. Watching her now was like watching another person entirely. Her expression was set in grim determination, no trace of laughter or levity. Only fury channeled into focus.

Bodewhin's fingers gently traced a map of the Westlands as she concentrated, her gaze seeming to pierce the wood of the table. The Asha'man bond allowed a greater sense of empathy than its Aes Sedai equivalent, and also a greater sense of location. An Aes Sedai couldn't determine location past a number of leagues, but Asha'man could sense direction and relative distance with astounding accuracy. A double bond granted both parties all benefits.

Bode slid her fingers over the capitol of Malkier, apparently where they had been before they vanished. Bode's eyes lit up and she looked up to the north-east, her fingers sliding that way on the map and settling on the end of the Maraside Mountains. She placed a pin on the map and looked to the Grey sister that the Amyrlin had recommended, a woman who was exceptionally familiar with Cairhienin noble families and their properties.

"There is a summer home owned by the Zavier House within that area," she reported, "a retreat to avoid backlash from other Houses." Bodewhin looked to Alivia, who had been sent to request aid from Bodewhin's ally. She had returned with a condition: a large distraction. Perhaps a full-scale invasion would suffice.

* * *

"I told you this was a mistake!" Karl shouted. Actually, he had said no such thing, but he had _thought_ it. "Those two are legends! And it seems their reputations are well-deserved. If we hadn't moved so fast they would have killed us instead of the other way around!" he raged.

"How was I supposed to know that they were immune to channeling?!" she shouted back. "I felt that a quick, silent weave of _saidin_ would finish that upstart off. I didn't think-"

"Exactly," Karl interrupted, "you didn't think, you brainless fool-girl!" he turned his gaze on Arason, who was laying on the floor, panting like a dog. "And you did nothing, either!" Karl lifted Arason by the coat and hurled him across the room.

"What was I supposed to do?!" Arason shouted. Clearly, Irella wanted to argue through him. Very well. "I can't move without being allowed, I can't speak unless allowed, I couldn't touch them any more than you could!" Karl decided that enough was enough and punched the upstart across the face. The boy spat out a stream of blood and fixed him with a defiant glare.

"When I get out of this, Zavier, I'm going to kill you." Karl punched him again. Arason merely stood again. "And then I'll send your corpse to your family as a warning!" Karl felt hot rage spike through him and struck again. He howled as his fist cracked against Arason's skin, skin like armor. But his scream was nothing against Irella's.

The Kinswoman was pale as a sheet, trembling with her arms crossed over her chest. Before Karl could ask her what the blazes was wrong with her, he was flung across the room and into the wall of the summer home they had occupied, one that belonged to his family on the crags of the Maraside Mountains. What happened?! Irella screeched again and the tingling of _saidar_ being channeled blinked away.

Arason dropped like puppet with its strings cut, forced into unconsciousness by Irella's panicked command. Karl looked her in the eye and took advantage of her apparent off-balance, forcing her to speak truthfully with the force of his gaze. "What happened?!" he demanded lowly.

"He channeled … through me," she said, fingering her bracelet. Zavier mulled this over, thinking over all he had read about these Domination Bands in the reports of Logain, of the White Tower, and the late Lord Dragon's notes. Some reports had mentioned a "back-seepage", a flaw in the design that would allow men to control the women, one that would slow down with the addition of another handler. But he had never thought it would be such a short time. Or perhaps it was reliant on how much she had controlled the subject. Perhaps the Seanchan's designs had magnified the flaws. He couldn't be sure. This was tricky, but at least Arason didn't know.

They would have to find another handler soon, one he could bend to his own way of thinking.

As soon as he thought that, a bell tolled inside Karl's mind. He had set wards around the manor, nestled in the mountains to provide an advantage, before they had settled. Someone was coming. Karl seized the Source and lifted Arason in flows of Air, dragging him along. Irella followed, mostly recovered from her shock.

Zavier walked onto the balcony of his family's manor, looking over the rocky slopes that fell into the grasslands that permeated Cairhien. With _saidin_ in him, he could see far better, more vibrantly than before. And more importantly, he could see the small procession approaching the only path that led to the manor. A small procession of … four women?

How had they found this place? Zavier berated himself as he looked closer at those who would dare attack his manor. He could see the Cauthon chit, likely she had traced the bond here, and her unleashed dog, the ex-damane. The two others were unknown, though one was an Aes Sedai wrapped in a blue-shawl and another wore the red belt of a Kinswoman. The Blue sister looked a tad familiar; perhaps her had seen her hat the White Tower?

Irella hissed in annoyance. "That's Moiraine Sedai. And Sumeko, the Eldest of the Kin." Karl sighed. Of course, the Forsaken-Killer and the leader of Irella's organization. Well, they couldn't possibly know this place well enough to Travel yet. Typical Aes Sedai, so arrogant, so over-confident. Well, he was more than a diplomat or a petty bully. He was trained as a weapon. As was Arason, leashed by Irella.

Zavier nodded to her and Arason woke with a strangled cry, prodded to consciousness by who-knew-what sensation. He smiled grimly at the approaching party. Time to do what he had been trained to do. What he lived to do.

 **Let it begin! Haha!**


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Bode strode restrainedly across the end of the grasslands that met the bottom of the Maraside Mountains, keeping her body under control even as her eyes remained locked on the manor settled within the mountain crags. Rif was there; she could feel him. She could feel his fear, different from before. Fear for her sake. Her mouth quirked for the briefest moment before settling back to a grim line.

Moiraine walked gracefully at her right, appearing calm as a summer breeze. Bode had asked her specifically to join this … endeavor. She had more experience in fighting channelers than the rest of the group combined. But more importantly, she was compassionate and could empathize with her situation.

At her left walked Sumeko, the Eldest of the Kin. She had needed no urging to come herself. Not only was she among the strongest of the Kin, but she felt it a personal duty to "enforce discipline upon her unruly initiate". Bode wasn't sure what that meant, but she didn't envy Irella when the Eldest got ahold of her. Of course, after all of this, she didn't pity her either.

And finally, Alivia would be walking behind her, likely restrained fury written upon her features. The ex- _damane_ had pledged to act as their guard and considered Rif's circumstances a monumental failure in her chosen path, a failure on the first time she was needed. Bode had tried to assure her this wasn't the case, but Alivia had demanded to come, citing her strength and skill in combat as worthy additions to the mission. Bode couldn't argue with that.

Bode's thoughts were interrupted by the glow of _saidar_ forming around Moiraine, a thread of Water lancing overhead to dissolve a fireball thrown from the manor's balcony. Bode embraced the Source herself and sent encouragement through the bond. The battle had begun.

* * *

Rif fought with everything he had to stop channeling, to even alter his weaves to less lethal forms. To release _saidin_ , turn against his captors, destroy the Band around his neck. Light, he would have settled for lowering his bloody arms! But it seemed all for naught as Arrows of Fire tore like a continuous blur from his fingertips, raining down upon his friend and his love.

Rif's only solace was the fact that Bode seemed fine. He knew she had his _ter'angreal_ on her and he felt no pain from her. And her very presence, though frightening in that she might be killed (and Irella would certainly be focusing on her), her presence ignited a small spark of hope in his chest. Bode was impulsive, perhaps, but she was far from foolish. She would have a plan.

Rif yelped in shock as needles seemed to gouge his skin from head to toes. Irella walked up beside him, a cruel sneer on her face. "You really are weak in Earth and Fire, aren't you?" she asked. Her eyes narrowed, but her sneer stayed. "Perhaps it's time I used my weapon to best suit its make." Rif didn't like where this was going.

Rif grunted as he was forced to lift his arms, channeling Air and Water to summon a screen of clouds. Dark clouds laden with rain … and lightning. Rif felt the color drain from his face, an involuntary action that the male _a'dam_ could not control. He felt himself reach into the clouds and tear spears of lightning from them. Blood and ashes, why did he have to be so good with weather?!

Rif cringed as the lightning struck, even if he knew Bode could protect herself from it. Alivia likely knew too, just from watching them practice. He grit his teeth at the sound of Zavier's crazed laughter, then smirked at his furious shouting, his tantrum at their survival. Zavier continued hurling fireballs down at them; Irella seemed to be considering her options.

Rif tried as hard as he could to breathe deeply, to keep his nerves under control. He knew at least that Bode was alright. This wasn't over. As if answering his thought, the downpour began.

* * *

Mat cursed under his breath as he felt shockwaves ripple through the manor from all the channeling going on outside. He planted his _ashandarei_ in the floor to keep himself upright. If they all kept it up, the manor would crumble from the mountain face. That would fix their traitor problem, but it would kill Bode's "friend", and him along with him. Mat turned his head at a sharp whistle from Thom, motioning for him to keep going. Mat flashed a rude gesture and kept on.

When Alivia had come to him with Bode's plea for help, he had barely hesitated. How could he say no to his little sister? But that didn't mean he had to like it. And he had demanded that she have him plan out their attack. Surprisingly for an Aes Sedai, even his sister, she had not argued the point once.

This distraction was his idea, a way to keep their focus off of Riften. While the channelers kept them busy, he would sneak in through the back and find a way to get Riften out of his little predicament. After all, how different could a male _a'dam_ differ from the female. Not to mention he had examined them before they were hidden away.

And of course, it was a nice touch having Thom tag along again. It felt like old times when they had rescued Moiraine from those thrice-burned fox-faced Finn.

Finally, they neared the front of the surprisingly spacious manor; how wealthy were these Zaviers, anyway? Mat peeked out to see the trio in question. Zavier was alternating between mad cackling and childish tantrums as he hurled weaves down at Bode and her friends, while the girl was deathly quiet. Riften was stone-still, no surprise there. Rain poured down around them, lightning crackling and flashing onto the slopes. Blood and ashes, why rain?!

Mat took a breath and gestured to Thom, then pointed to Irella. He hated to hurt the girl, but if she were distracted a little more it would make his job easier. Thom nodded grimly and readied a knife. Mat readied his _ashandarei_ and counted his fingers down. Three - two - one!

Mat bolted from cover, Thom's knife streaming past him and landing in Irella's calf. The Kinswoman screeched like a stuck pig, an apt term Mat thought, and collapsed. Riften cried out as he was forced to the ground as well. Good thing, actually. He was just over Riften when Zavier turned to face him and shot off a ball of fire. Mat felt the medallion go cold as it dissolved before hitting him. The ex-lord stood rooted with confusion, a fact Mat had been counting on. He knelt and ran his hands over Riften's collar, finding the release mechanism with practiced ease. The collar came open.

On instinct, Mat stood and lashed out with his spear, intercepting a sword blow from Zavier that heavily dented the sword blade. Fast as lightning, Mat retaliated with a strike with the butt to his crotch, then a downward slash across the shoulder. The attacks did nothing, probably some kind of armor of Air, but his first attack made Zavier wince. Take that.

Mat kept up the pressure, driving him away from the balcony. It was time for phase two.

* * *

Rif felt like he was underwater, all sights and sounds washed out and distorted. And he was fairly certain it wasn't just the rain. The pain he had felt from the _a'dam_ , like muscle cramps all over his body, was gone. It had just vanished like it had never been there, only his pounding heart evidence that it had actually been there at all. He felt around his neck. His fingers met only warm skin. He was free? He was free!

Rif sat up, sore from all of the channeling he had done in the past few days and drenched from the rain he had not wanted to summon, and his gaze settled on Irella. She looked murderous. And terrified. Could one look murderous and terrified at the same time? She did a good job of it. Rif jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding a fireball, and hurled himself behind an overturned table.

Rif focused and sought the Void. He felt the rage burning in his chest, the thirst for revenge. It was like a weaker offspring of _saidin_ , raging and trying to drag him along. No! He sought the Void and fed it all, the fury, the humiliation, the fear, the vengeance. He emptied himself and saw the light of _saidin_. He seized it and reveled in the struggle that he once again fought on his own. Time to do his work.

Rif dove from behind the table and fired off blades of Air, slicing the stone where Irella had been. She had apparently used her own weaves as cover to move away. He had to give the woman credit. She had resolve to be able to crawl away with a knife in her calf.

A part of him saw that Matrim was viciously dueling Zavier, spear to sword, with Zavier's weaves melting around the Raven Prince. Rif had heard stories of Matrim fighting both princes of Andor with a quarterstaff. And winning at that. He could easily handle that arrogant crackbrain.

Irella hurled another fireball at him, which he quelled with threads of Air and Water. He then wove Water to bring thousands of raindrops together into a wave that washed the woman away. She sat back up, spluttering, and the ground erupted from underneath Rif's feet.

Rif sat up, shaking away the ringing in his ears, and looked around. Matrim was also on the ground. Either Irella had chosen to stun both of them or Zavier had gotten wise to the limits of Matrim's immunity. An older man was helping the Raven Prince up―wait, was that Thom Merrilin? Moiraine Sedai's Warder?

Rif stood on shaky legs, letting _saidin_ go, and walked to the rail of the balcony. He just saw a square of light before it vanished. "Rif?" At the sound of his name, if stiffened and turned. Bode looked at him with wide eyes, almost timid. A small part of him laughed at that; he could never think of Bode as timid.

Bode rushed to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. Rif laughed and squeezed around her waist. She had done it. Others may have been involved, but he knew she had been the tip of the spear. She had saved him!

Rif broke their embrace and kissed her like he never had. She reacted with a passion. They broke it all too soon, both panting and grinning like fools. Bode took his face in her hands, her eyes filled with sorrow.

"Rif, I'm so sorry. I should have been there. They never would have-" Rif silenced her with a peck on the cheek. He sent a flurry of emotion through the bond―love, joy, relief, he even added forgiveness when it wasn't needed. It was a form of communication that went beyond words, and he could feel Bode calm down. A tear escaped Bode's eye and he felt his own cheeks wet.

Only then did Riften realize that the storm had broken. The rain had stopped.

* * *

Irella grit her teeth through the feverish warmth that came from Zavier's Healing. He claimed to have little Talent for it, barely able to patch up her wound. What a surprise from such a violent man. As he finished up, Irella jerked away from him, calm outside while her insides seethed.

They had been beaten with such ease! A Kinswoman, an unleashed hunting dog, a famous weakling, and _Bodewhin_ had beaten her, with her fool-brained brother and an old Warder! This wasn't possible! What about her plans?! She would have burned those arrogant name-only servants to dust, only those who were willing to follow allowed to live. She would then wipe that toxic stain writhing with poisonous bugs, the Black Tower, off the map.

Irella's line of thought was broken by the most unlikely sound, given the situation: laughter. Borderline mad cackling laughter. She looked over her shoulder to see Zavier bracing himself on a table, his chilling cackles growing ever louder. And just as he approached shouting, he cut off as if it hadn't happened.

"It seems our adversaries are a touch more clever than we thought. And far more lucky." Irella grit her teeth as she reluctantly agreed with that summation. It was the only thing that made sense.

"What do we do now?" she asked. She was at a loss, unable to think of even the framework for a way to salvage this unmitigated disaster of a failure. Zavier chuckled and closed his fist, the knuckles cracking.

"They will be relieved to be alive. The others will be relieved this crisis is over. They will all let their guards down, hope dulling their senses. And that is when we launch the contingency." As he explained to her his plan, this backup devised on the off-chance they would fail, Irella grinned in anticipation.

This would be even more pleasant to feel.

* * *

Rif waited patiently as the water for morning tea began to boil, spurred by the thin weave of Fire he used to brush the pot. It was almost like when he had first began learning to channel, trying so fervently to heat a pot of stew for his first hot meal in weeks. Now he was almost stunned at being able to channel under his own power again. And after only a few days of capture. He shivered briefly, wondering how Alivia had managed it for four hundred years.

After a few more moments, The water was boiling properly and he set in the tea leaves, letting his thoughts run back to the past few days.

After Zavier and Irella had fled, Sumeko had nearly left to try and track them down. Or, more accurately, to track down Irella. Moiraine Sedai had stopped her, pointing out that there were those more suited to tracking them already on the job. Not to mention the Aes Sedai would want her report on this "event".

Bode had immediately woven a gateway to Tear, the opening revealing the M'Hael and Amyrlin Seat, as well as her Keeper, a retenue of Aes Sedai, a few Telamons, and several Asha'man. They had listened to Bode and moiraine's reports, while Flinn had tried to do what he could for Rif. The old man had determined that Rif just needed rest and had performed a new Healing weave, one that placed Rif in a deep, rejuvenating sleep.

He had slept for three days and woken up the day before, feeling like a new man. Waking up next to Bode had only made it better. After her had woken, Bode had nearly forced him to eat breakfast, a heaping plate of eggs, buttered bread, and bacon, and had told him that Zavier and Irella had not been found.

Rif shook his head from the gloomy thoughts and removed the teapot from its place, setting it on a folded cloth and pouring two cups. He moved, ever silently, down the hall and into the bedroom before kneeling down to watch Bode. He smiled to himself; she always seemed so peaceful in sleep. Ever so slightly, her nose twitched and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled back at him.

Rif reached in for a kiss … and reeled back with a groan as his collar seared with heat. The dragon pin was glowing, the heat just below burning. A summons? One of the newer aspects of becoming an Asha'man was an addition to the dragon pin. It was similar to a Finding and triggered by a _ter'angreal_ built from the descriptions of the Lord Dragon's books. It could be triggered as a mass-summoning to the M'Hael's presence. And a summoning with this much heat could only be a dire emergency. What could have happened so soon?

Rif's jumbled thoughts were interrupted by Bode's hand on his shoulder. She looked at him with a mix of love and patience, though the bond held a fleck of frustration at their moment being interrupted. "Go," she said, "I'll get there when I can." Rif smiled at her and pecked her cheek before bolting from the house.

* * *

Logain tried to order his thoughts before he addressed the Asha'man. That was more difficult in this room than it would be elsewhere, but he forced himself to endure. To take in the enormity of his failure. The room, a large room in the Palace, had been repurposed as a library after the Last Battle. The books would be relocated to the Black Tower when it was built. And it was in shambles.

Books were scattered everywhere, furniture shattered, cases knocked over. No stone had been left unturned. But the worst part was a mass of melted bronze, formerly a stand lamp, in the center of the room. The lamp had been forged some time ago, though not only as a lamp. It had been made as camouflage, a place for hiding something in plain sight. It had worked well, but clearly not enough.

And the other piece, one that had meant to look like a piece of desk decor, had been taken as well.

Logain left the library and strode out onto the lawn, stepping onto the marble block to address his Asha'man. He swallowed before he spoke, his eyes drifting through the crowds and settling on Arason before looking over them all.

"Asha'man, we have an emergency unseen since the Last Battle. Sakarnen has been stolen."

* * *

Rif felt numb as Logain's words echoed in his ears. Pieces came together nto a whole picture, just as they often did. The black Tower had had one of its own rescued. Everyone was relieved. No one would be expecting an attack on their core, on their heart. Especially not to take something from the strongest of them. Zavier. It had had to be him!

Rif felt fury tinged with fear rise in his gut. He felt his breath shorten, felt sweat roll down the sides of his face, felt his very skin go white and clammy. Zavier, his tormenter, the mastermind of his imprisonment, had his hands on the most powerful sa'angreal in the Black Tower, more powerful even than Callandor. One separated for three thousand years for safety, used to wreak havoc on the Fields of Merrilor, to duel Egwene al'Vere to a standstill. One that Rif himself had spearheaded the effort to reclaim. The irony tasted like bile on the back of his tongue.

Rif let out his pent-up breath and fed all of it to the Void, trying to reclaim some semblance of calm. He focused, trying to listen to Logain's orders. The M'Hael was speaking to an Asha'man, who was shaking his head. Logain grimaced and began organizing the Asha'man into teams of two with at least one Aes Sedai. Configuration for circles, for attack. For combatting a sa'angreal.

Rif felt like he was coming out of a haze when Logain approached him. "Arason, go home," he said, tone gentle yet firm, brooking no argument. Rif's retort died in his throat. He swallowed and looked down, some might say sulkily. He knew it was childish, but he couldn't help it.

"Arason," Rif looked up, "you've suffered enough at the hands of Zavier. And …" he turned to regard the men around them, "the White Tower has reported that Vora's Rod has been stolen, as well. We can only assume it was Irella. Go home and continue resting. The rest of us will handle this." He clapped Rif on the shoulder and smiled encouragingly before moving on.

Rif debated with himself, and even he had to admit he came to a quick decision. He bolted for his house. It may be insubordination, but he had to see this through.

 **Tedronai: Thank you for your continued support and critique. To answer some of your questions:**

 **1) The deal with Rif and the serving girls is that they've known him since he was a kid. They all look at him as a brother of sorts. And the BT move with Zavier was more of an experiment, with the intent known to both Towers.**

 **2) Bode knew Rif's father was dead - he told her.**


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Alivia walked behind Riften and Bodewhin, who in turn followed a grizzled Asha'man. She held the Source, hoping her sharpened senses would allow her to protect her charges this time. Despite Bodewhin's encouragement, the sting of her failure was still fresh. And she was determined to keep them safe this time.

Alivia still wasn't sure how Riften had convinced the Asha'man, this "Sandomere", to help them track down the renegades. He had been speaking to the older man, a sharp sense of … intensity to his words, and Sandomere had turned from outright refusal to grudging acquiescence like a flash of lightning.

Sandomere, who apparently had the Talent to "read residues" as the Aes Sedai said, had been able to trace and replicate Zavier's gateways, allowing them to follow his path. They had gone through four so-far and had yet to find him. They came across what Sandomere said was another residue and he began his work. Within minutes, a gateway opened.

The group rushed through only to find another of Logain's groups. Narishma and another Asha'man Alivia didn't recognise, along with an Aes Sedai she recognised as Akkarin. It seemed Logain had had a similar idea in tracking them. In a flash Narishma drew _Callandor_ from its sheath on his back, the crystal sword glowing like solid light, and pointed it at them, a steely glare in his eyes that was soon replaced by confusion and then back to steel.

"Arason? What are you doing here?" he demanded. Riften squared his shoulders and glared right back.

"I'm here to fight my own battle. Zavier is mine, just as Taim should have been Logain's. He is a menace to my home and I will bring him in." He said it with such conviction it was difficult for Alivia not to believe him. Apparently Narishma felt it too, because the glare in his eyes wavered for just a moment.

"Go back to the Tower, Arason. I will forget this happened." It was a stalemate, a battle of wills. A Telamon opposing the vengeful Huntsman. And the ex- _damane_ was not sure who would back down.

* * *

Bode watched Rif, glowing orange with the Source, as he stared at Narishma, that fuming glare that quite honestly unnerved her ever-so-slightly. She placed a hand on Rif's shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Rif, it's not worth it," she said just above a whisper. Rif looked at her with hurt in his eyes. "Let them handle this," she continued. "We can go home and rest, ready if they call us." That's what she said, but she sent something else through the bond.

Bode hadn't forgotten what Irella, and by extension Zavier, had done to him. She wanted them to pay for it just as badly as he did, just in a different way. The bond flickered with understanding, and Rif relaxed just a hair. Then his mind became … hard, focused like a sword's edge, like an arrow knocked in a bow, like a dark cloud ready to unleash a storm. For an instant, she thought she saw the air … warp around him …

Narishma cried out and clutched his hand. What was that, a muscle cramp? Callandor fell from his hand just as Akkarin's gateway opened. Rif rushed forward, Bode just behind him, and grabbed the Sword That Is Not a Sword from the air before they both leaped through the gateway. Bode sent a weave of Air to stun Akkira, and the gateway closed.

Bode took stock of the situation in an instant. Zavier and Irella had chosen the Heights of Merrilor, a gateway open for them to storm the White Tower. What could they possibly want; what could binding Rif or those _sa'angreal_ give them? Both clutched their respective weapons. Both looked stunned to see them.

Bode glared at both of them and prepared her weaves. It was time for justice to be dealt.

* * *

Zavier shook off his shock at having been found - how had they followed Irella's gateway? - and drew deeply from Sakarnen. He almost roared in ecstasy at the amount he could draw with the Scepter. It was like a lake compared to his natural puddle. And all of that Power would soon destroy the White Tower, leaving the most powerful - Irella - to lead the survivors into his next plan: outright war. But first he had some pests to deal with.

Zavier wove a huge net of Fire threads, a swirling maelstrom of flames, and hurled it toward the Asha'man and Aes Sedai. He grinned as it flashed toward them - and gaped in surprise when it collapsed in on itself, fading to nothing. Arason couldn't have channeled, Cauthon was right in front of him! What had just happened?

Thunder pealed overhead and lightning flashed to decimate the pair. Zavier grinned at Irella's quick thinking, but the lightning struck them and simply faded into the ground. Zavier grit his teeth, recalling rumors among Dedicated that the Asha'man had learned to redirect lightning. It was said Logain had learned it during his fight with Demandred on these very Heights. But where was the weave - how did they make their weaves invisible? Did something similar dissolve his own attack? He resolved to take one of the Telamons when they attacked the Black Tower and force him to teach what he knew.

Zavier, having been distracted, dove to the side to avoid whirling blades of Air that made gravel out of the stone he had been standing on. He stared at the glowing sword in Arason's hand: _Callandor_ , the only _sa'angreal_ that could rival his own. And one without a buffer … If he could force Arason to overdraw, it would deal with him and leave _Callandor_ open. Two _sa'angreal_! He would be invincible!

Zavier lifted boulders from the Heights and hurled them at Bodewhin. Arason cast weaves of Fire and Earth to destroy them, the rubble flying back. Wait a moment … something was off about that. He cast a shield at Arason, but it was cut out of the air. Blood and ashes, he had always been good at that.

Arason looked at him with calm fury and wove something that Zavier could not see. A gateway formed and shot forward. Zavier dove out of the way, instincts taking over, and cast weaves of Fire and Air at Arason, with one thrown at Cauthon to catch him off guard. He cut apart the weaves fired at him, but left the one sent at Cauthon, which fell apart as well. Zavier ripped up a wall of stone for cover and reinforced it, Sakarnen providing more than enough Power to do it quickly. He had to think for a moment.

* * *

Irella flung weaves as fast as she could, drawing on Vora's Rod as much as she dared. It was common knowledge among the Kin that Amyrlin al'Vere had died due to the lack of a buffer on it, a cautionary tale against ambition. It had only armed Irella with the warning. But it didn't seem to matter now as everything she threw at Bodewhin, no matter how powerful, just melted away.

It had to be a _ter'angreal_. That was the only explanation. She had heard rumors of the Raven Prince's medallion that nullified weaves, and rumor had swirled for years within the White Tower that Cadsuane Sedai had something similar. Where had Bodewhin gotten one? She resolved to find it and take it for her own after this was over.

But that didn't solve her immediate problem. Bodewhin was simply weathering her attacks like a stone in a river, and conserving her own strength by firing off attacks only when she had an opening. Which, Irella admitted bitterly, was rather often. Accepted were not taught but the bare minimum of combat weaves and the Kin looked down upon martial uses of the Power unless in the direst of circumstances.

She had to think outside the box, here.

* * *

Bode flung weaves of Fire and Air at Irella, who cut them away with ease. She in turn sent weaves of Spirit at her, which melted away upon touching her. She allowed a small grin at the look of frustration upon the other woman's face and was yet again grateful for Rif's _ter'angreal_. Without it, she would have been hard pressed to be alive right now. With it, the battle was a stalemate - neither able to touch the other.

Irella shouted in frustration as Arrows of Fire pounded against the Shield of Air she had woven, the super-heated filaments exploding against it like a river of destruction. Bode looked to see Rif firing at her with his left hand, _Callandor_ clasped in his right with a death grip.

A fierce explosion rocked the Heights as the wall of stone Zavier had erected came crashing down. He fired off another whirlwind of fire and Bode leapt in front of it, letting it dissolve against her. She ripped lightning down, forcing him to dissolve it with weaves of Spirit. And all he did was grin, as if he had won some crucial gambit. The earth exploded out from under Bode and she flew to the side. She cried out, her bones feeling cracked and her skin peppered with small cuts.

Both Irella and Zavier ran at the sight of a bar of fire that hung in the air, a piercing whine emanating from it. The bar, a Blossom of Fire, exploded into a disk of flames ten feet across as Rif ran to her. He knelt beside her and fired off arrows woven from Air so that Bode could mask her pendant in an inverted net of Spirit and allow him to Heal her. He did with haste, yet care, and she was quickly back in the fight.

Rif turned and resumed his assault of Arrows of Fire. Irella had erected another shield of Air and was advancing, the Power of Vora's Rod allowing her to stand up to the onslaught. If just barely - she looked like she were being buffeted by strong winds. Wait, where was Zavier? As if in answer, the ground exploded underneath Rif, hurling him into the air where he met a swirling column of air. The current knocked him backward … and off the edge.

Bode darted to the edge of the cliff, stunned. She felt only calm through the bond, and it … weakened. Just as they had arranged if they were sure to die, Rif had released his half of their bond. Bode felt tears roll down her face as she released her half. The cold against her skin of a weave breaking apart brought her back to reality and she turned with fury in her eyes. She had conserved her strength until now, letting Irella and Zavier exhaust themselves in attacking her. No more. Now they would pay. They would suffer!

Bode shrieked in her grief and anger, and let loose her Power.

* * *

Rif turned in the air and spread his arms, trying to slow his fall. He wove Air around himself to slow down before the inevitability hit him: he was going to die. A small part of him was frightened by this, but the rest tried to think it through. Everything seemed to slow down, or his thoughts became faster, and he tried to think clearly. A calm came over him like only imminent death could bring.

Rif thought back to a conversation he and Bode had had before they had left for the Two Rivers. They had agreed that, if death seemed unavoidable, they would release their halves of the bond. They would save each other the suddenness of the bond's severing and the madness that came with it. With a pang of grief, Rif focused and released his part. The bond became weaker than he ever remembered, and it was all-too-soon before it disappeared completely.

Rif breathed, his weaves of Air only delaying the inevitable. He had heard from the Huntsmen growing up that before they die, the Wheel of Time granted a select few one last look at their lives, a flash of detailed memory. Rif had never truly believed it, but even then … it happened. He saw it all. Every little bit.

 _Rif saw his father singing to him as a young boy. He saw treks through the woods with the Huntsmen as they taught him to sneak, to fight, to track. To hunt. Rif saw his time at the Black Tower, learning to control_ saidin _, learning to bend it to his will. Rif saw his time at the White Tower, when he learned about the Aes Sedai. He saw the places he had gone after, the good he had done._

 _And most of all he saw Bode. He saw her kindness, her wisdom, her joyous spirit. He saw the time pass as they fell in love and he finally realized what it was. He saw when they first kissed, when they met each other's' parents, when they fought and when they made up._

 _He saw all the good, all of the bad, everything. And one thing struck him and seemed to lag. A page from one of the Lord Dragon's volumes, detailing Talents lost since the Age of Legends. One seemed to call out to him._ "An exceedingly rare Talent is to mimic the chance-twisting effect of a _ta'veren_ , though on a much smaller scale and radius." _That's what it was._

Rif thought back to all of the strange incidents that had happened to him of late: the dice rolling a perfect win, the Brown spilling her secrets, finding the page he needed, Narishma's sudden cramp. It all made sense now. He had twisted to Pattern itself. Rif glanced toward the ground, rapidly approaching even with his weave slowing him down. The ground was certain death. He thought back to a phrase he had heard from Matrim in their time in Ebou Dar. It seemed very appropriate now.

"Time to toss the dice," he muttered and began weaving flows together, aimlessly and without purpose, different Powers darting in and out together. He focused on his need, without any distractions. Without words, he commanded the Pattern to change around him, demanded it. Begged it. His flows swirled together and he felt nothing. The ground was getting far too close.

And like lightning, Rif felt a headache like nothing before spear him through his skull, like a burning lance driven between his eyes. The pain lasted a few moments, a few eye-watering, nerve-shattering moments, and faded away. He felt blood dripping from his nose and flying away in the wind. He looked to see what he had woven.

He knew what it was, somehow, and he couldn't believe it. There was no way in all of Creation that he was this fortunate, even with his apparent Talent. And yet the evidence was before him: a weave, a Talent, that had been lost and mourned and striven to be reclaimed for three millennia. It couldn't be!

* * *

Bode fired off weaves of Fire and Earth, destroying boulders that Zavier and Irella hurled at her. It seemed Zavier had figured out the limitations of her pendant _ter'angreal_ , that real things not controlled by the Power could hurt her. And he had somehow told Irella.

Their options were still limited, at least. Whereas hers were anything but. But she was tiring, her considerable strength that dwarfed their natural power far eclipsed by their _sa'angreal_. Eventually she would exhaust herself and they would be able to simply pick her up and toss her over the edge to follow Rif. They would probably get her pendant, too, and use Rif's gift to make themselves even stronger. The thought sickened her.

Finally, inevitably, one of them got in a lucky shot. Bode was struck by the debris of a shattered boulder and hurled to the ground, her body beaten and bruised. Bode grit her teeth and forced herself to sit up, to look death in the eyes with dignity. She glared at Zavier and Irella as they approached, eerily identical sneers on their faces. Zavier backed away and gestured to Irella, offering her the killing blow. Irella prepared her weave, one heavy in Earth that would no doubt finish her. She smiled cruelly down at her.

And Bode heard a familiar battle cry, one that she thought she would never hear again. Irella looked up and her face went deathly pale, her mouth hanging open in shock. Zavier was no better, if not worse. Bode glanced behind her, seeing nothing. On a whim she looked up. And she understood why they were acting so.

In the air, his coat billowing in the wind and _Callandor_ glowing in his hand, was Riften Arason. He was floating, suspended by nothing. He was doing the impossible.

"You're flying?!" Irella shrieked.

* * *

Karl was hard pressed to shake off his astonishment. Asha'man with far more experience and power had tried to learn to fly. And all had failed. They had agreed that it was all but impossible to discover by pure chance. It was impossible that this nobody from some backwater Andoran village in the Mountains of Mist had figured it out.

And yet, he was flying! Why?! Why did everything good happen to him?! What was Karl lacking that fortune seemed to pass him by with nothing but apathy and a curled lip.

He shook that off, as well. He didn't need fortune. He would do this himself. He would wage war against the Black and White towers and he would weld them into his own forces. Then he would snatch Cairhien from the grasp of that pretender queen, and take Andor as an extra measure. He would claim the Stone of Tear and use it as his personal palace, impregnable except for the channellers that he would control.

All of this flowed in a mad, insane heap through Karl's mind as he tried to plan his next move.

* * *

Rif answered Irella's exclamation with a volley of Arrows of Fire, forcing her back. He shot down and landed, the force of it cracking the stone around him. He looked up with utter determination. Rif cringed in pain and blood leaked from his nose, from the corner of his eye, as he wove a small gateway, letting something fall out of it. A bracelet sat in his hand, one shaped like an acrobat banding backward with his wrists lashed to his ankles. Moiraine's _angreal_?

Rif passed her the angreal and wove Spirit around Bode's pendant, then washed away her exhaustion. Bode stood and looked him in the eye. He seemed so strong, so confident. Then he fell to a knee with a groan of agony. He stood back up and brushed the blood from his face.

"Let's finish this Bode. Together." Bode felt herself smile and she turned toward the renegades with renewed determination. They would win.

"Together," she agreed.

* * *

Irella drew as much as she dared through Vora's Rod, hurling weaves of Earth and Air at random. She focused on Arason, the one who couldn't see her weaves, while a small part of her noticed Zavier doing the same, focusing on Bodewhin. But it didn't seem to matter that he couldn't see her weaves; he countered them just fine.

Irella cut a weave from Bodewhin - her weaves were stronger now! - and she saw a flash of Arason locked in combat with Zavier, _Callandor_ flashing as it struck sparks off of Zavier's sword. Irella refocused. She would not be taken! The Kin would sever her or saddle her with the hardest labor they could imagine! She was better than that and she would get out of this! She continued to fight.

* * *

Karl swung his sword with all the skill he could muster, but it was not enough. His grip was clumsy one-handed, the other needed to grip Sakarnen. Arason fought with some strange, two-bladed style - in one hand his Power-wrought sword, the other _Callandor_ \- and he was battering away at his defenses. This couldn't be happening! Everything was falling apart …

Karl grit his teeth, the talkative part of his mind vying for an explanation. Sakarnen was the most powerful male _sa'angreal_ in existence, so why couldn't he beat Arason, who held only the second most powerful? The answer buzzed around his mind for a moment before he could bring himself to acknowledge it. Arason was stronger than him. Without _angreal_ , with only themselves, Arason was more powerful, more skillful.

Arason bolted forward, his feet above the ground, and struck at him with his swords. Karl dropped his sword and wove a Shield of Air to block the strikes. It was clear that he could stand up to him with the sword. But _Callandor_ cut through the barrier like a hot knife, forcing Karl to duck to avoid it razor edge, only to be met with Arason's knee striking his chin. He stumbled back and hurled weaves as cast as he could form them, a jumbled mess of the Power that would have overwhelmed anyone. But they were all cut out of the air.

Arason, that impossible weave springing around him again, took to the air and continued firing weaves. Karl tried to follow that weave hanging around the Andoran like a cloak, some complex net of Spirit threaded with Air, Fire, and Water like embroidery. It was beautiful. But Karl had never been able to learn in such a short time. He simply drew more on Sakarnen, if that were possible, and fought on.

He met the buffer, keeping him from burning himself out. Perhaps he would have to wait for Arason to do just that.

* * *

Bode struck out with weaves of Fire and Earth, neatly cutting apart the stones Irella had cast at her. This was amazing! Moiraine's _angreal_ was so strong, almost _sa'angreal_! She could keep up with Irella's channeling now. But even with her exhaustion washed away, she felt it regrowing and creeping up on her. She had to finish this quickly.

Bode formed a series of shields and cast them at Irella, who cut them out of the air. More followed, keeping her from seeing the true threat. Bode had inverted a weave of Hardened Air that snaked around the stones and grass of the Heights, finally wrapping around Irella's neck. Bode tightened the grip, cutting off the other woman's breath. On instinct, Irella clutched at her throat, dropping the Rod.

Bode shot another weave of Air to snatch the Rod up and took it in her grasp, drawing through it as much as she dared. She wove quickly, yet carefully, a shield from the Source that was more complex than any she had ever woven. She slammed it down on Irella, cutting off her connection to _saidar_ , and tied it off. She wove restraints of Air for added measure and turned to look for the men.

Rif had turned the tide, now it was her turn.

As Bode rushed to find her love, she didn't notice another figure approach Irella. And she didn't see the look of absolute horror on the young woman's face.

* * *

Rif hurled chunks of ice, woven with Water and Air from the clouds around them, at Zavier. He was careful to channel through his _angreal_ before he used Power through _Callandor_ , very much aware of the lack of a buffer. He carefully kept his weaves inverted, unsure exactly how fast Zavier could learn. One would have never thought of caution if they saw Rif fight like this. Only of implacable drive.

Zavier hurled massive shields at him, apparently fed up with this duel. He was trying to sever Rif from the Source for good. Rif sliced the weaves apart, but he had to give Zavier credit. The man was good at using raw power to make up for finesse. The ground erupted underneath Rif's feet, apparently a favorite move of Zavier's, but the force was deflected by his armor _ter'angreal_. Even then he was thrown into the air. Rif wove Flight and lowered himself gently. Zavier kept coming. Rif became unable to do much more than cut or dodge his weaves, the Cairhienin consumed by frenzy, granting him energy he wouldn't have any other way. And to think Rif had heard that the Scepter weakened its user faster than normal.

And out of nowhere, a string of fireballs hurtled at Zavier, the weaves invisible. Bode came up beside him, surprising him before he remembered that their bond was gone. He focused that grief into determination and struck with even greater ferocity. With the two of them together, they began wearing Zavier down.

Zavier shouted his defiance and ripped lightning down upon them. Rif wove the Shield against Lightning, enduring the wrath from the clouds above, and he knew without needing the bond that Bode had done the same. That's why the wave of wind that knocked Rif to the side, into Bode, came as such a surprise. Both flew into a cliff face leading higher into the Heights. Rif felt himself lose _Callandor_ , the massive well of Power lost from him. A Stunning followed, knocking the Source from Rif's grasp. The tingle of a woman channeling disappeared, too.

Rif shook away the dizziness and pain from being crushed against a wall of stone and looked for Bode. His blood went ice cold when he saw blood running down her scalp. Her eyes fluttered and she groggily focused on him. She lowered her head to his shoulder, unconscious. Rif tried to seize the Source, but a shield had been set on him, keeping it from his reach.

Zavier approached them, laughing madly. He lifted boulders from the ground, leveling them above Rif and his love. Rif swallowed in fear before the same calm of imminent death settled over him. Zavier shouted and the boulders fell. Rif, unthinking, covered Bode with himself. Anything to keep her safe. He could _feel_ the boulders approach … and nothing happened.

Rif looked up to find the boulders turned to gravel, some kind of rippling field protecting them. Zavier was fighting again, but not against them. Rif's jaw went slack as he recognized Logain and Pevara Sedai. Both had gotten ahold of the _sa'angreal_ that he and Bode had dropped. And both were dueling the lordling in concert.

The battle didn't last long. Zavier's weaves bounced off of another rippling field that surrounded them both. Zavier was overpowered and subdued, shielded from the Source. As the fight ended, another figure approached them. Moiraine Sedai, a small grin on her lips, gently removed her _angreal_ from Bode's wrist and the pendant from her neck before Healing them both.

"Apologies for being late," she said. "But Logain insisted on coming at the last possible second."

 **What did you think?**

 **Tedronai: Bode and Rif still haven't "consummated". And the letter from Rand was written to sound as he had written it before his "death" and was delivered by messenger (actually Rand) like the books to the Black Tower.**

 **Dragonerus: I actually forgot the dog was there as I was writing. He-he, silly me. I'll edit that out.**


	25. Epilouge

**Chapter Twenty-Four - Epilogue**

Bode watched grimly as Zavier was held before Logain, M'Hael of the Black Tower. The False Dragon glared down at the lordling with muted anger and unfathomable disappointment. "Kneel, Karl Zavier," Narishma said, _Callandor_ back in its place on his back, "or you will be knelt." Zavier stood there, both stunned and defiant, and the Telamons forced him to his knees.

"Karl Zavier," Logain intoned, "you have betrayed the Black Tower, the haven for asha'man. You have attacked cities of five sovereign nations, attempted regicide in Malkier and usurpation in both Towers. And that is moving past the destruction, injury, and death your blind actions have caused. These crimes are worthy of death and worse … So you shall be granted worse." Logain stepped back, letting Grady approach with something grasped in his hand. Something familiar.

Grady held it out and Zavier was forced to take it, allowing Bode to see what it truly was: a binding rod, like the Oath Rod. What was going on? She looked to Rif, who was mystified, but the Telamons' faces were tight and grim. The binding rod began to glow ever-so-slightly.

"Swear the Oaths of the Outcast," Logain commanded. Androl had whispered something in his ear a moment before. Zavier's face tightened with rage and he began breathing hard, but one look around the circle of Aes Sedai and Asha'man seemed to show him how futile a fight would be.

"I swear to never again attempt to touch the True Source," he said through gritted teeth and stiffened as if in pain. "I swear to serve the Asha'man to the best of my ability, to never raise a hand against them or the Aes Sedai." That seemed to make him sick and his grimace widened. "And I swear never to take my own life nor to ask or force another to do so." He actually cried out at that last one. The binding rod was taken away and Zavier collapsed, dry sobs wracking his body.

"Take him away," Logain commanded. Two Asha'man took him away through a gateway to the Black Tower. Logain turned to regard Rif, steel in his gaze. Rif swallowed nervously and knelt before him.

"Lord Logain, I surrender myself for disciplinary action. I acknowledge my insubordination and ask no quarter for myself. I only ask that Bodewhin Sedai be granted leniency." Bode choked back a sob as she remembered their first class together, how he had done the same thing for Leane.

Logain's gaze didn't waver. "Riften Arason, you have disobeyed the orders of the M'Hael of the Black Tower. You willingly and with prior planning pursued a dangerous criminal despite orders to the contrary." Logain paused, and the firmness of his glare wavered for just a moment. "Just as I knew you would."

Bode could barely hold back a gasp, and Rif actually looked up in shock, breaching protocol. Logain had planned this?! He knew that Rif would go after Zavier?! On second thought, Rif was young. She supposed it wasn't a difficult conclusion, especially if Logain had meant for it to happen.

"You were instrumental in the capture of said criminal, both in location and subduing," Logain continued, "and this will grant some leniency in this matter. Your sentence will be assignment to the Two Rivers as the Black Tower's envoy to Lord Tam al'Thor, whom has taken over lordship of the Two Rivers in the place of Lord Perrin and Lady Faile Aybara, now King and Queen Aybara of Saldea. Effective immediately." He grinned snidely. "You can deal with those hard Two Rivers heads." And with that, he nodded to the Telamons and Asha'man, who began to return to the Black Tower.

* * *

Irella Bathor fought back the tears, tears of shame and guilt and sorrow, and so many other things. And like so many times before, she lost. The tears came spilling down, staining the floor of the stable she was to clean. She was seen as nothing more than a hired hand, now. A traitor to the highest degree.

Irella had been switched fiercely once Sumeko had gotten a hold of her on the Heights of Merrilor. it was like being a novice all over again, only ten times worse. She had been sentenced to forever be at the bottom of the Kin, never to channel without express permission from one of the Knitting Circle. It was like failing her test for the shawl again, stripped of anything she had accomplished.

Irella briefly looked up to the Kinswoman who was keeping an eye on her. She wiped her face and continued scrubbing. And scrubbing, and scrubbing. And it made no difference to the stain on her soul. That could never be scrubbed clean.

* * *

Alivia grinned as she, as well as three Asha'man, escorted Riften to his "sentence". Lord Tam had been informed of the appointment and had offered he and Bodewhin a place in the Lord's Manor until they built a home. Bodewhin had graciously accepted, while Riften still seemed stunned at his light punishment. Logain and the Telamons had gone so far as to claim that Riften had been acting on orders (though, in a way, he had).

The Asha'man stopped outside of Emond's Field and nodded before retreating back through a gateway, leaving the trio alone. Alivia cleared her throat to get their attention. "If you will excuse me," she said, "I believe you two have some business to take care of." With that she trekked toward the Winespring Inn.

Or perhaps she would return to the Black Tower and meet with a certain Two Rivers man?

* * *

Bode and Rif watched Alivia go, both still feeling guilty about leaving her behind. She had given them quite a rant about being left behind and all they could muster in defence was that everything had happened so fast. Bode grinned and looked at Rif, embracing the Source and weaving Spirit as she did. "She's right. We do have unfinished business." Rif looked at her in question and she quickly kissed him. She pulled back to see Rif with a dazed expression before his eyes widened in realization.

Rif smiled widely and, after a pause, kissed her back. She settled a newly crafted Warder bond over him, just as she felt an asha'man bond settle over her. That sensation of doubling arose as her identity circled in on Rif's and back to hers in an endless cycle that lasted mere moments. And then it was gone, that knot of his emotions back in place where it belonged. Bode smiled at her love and he smiled back.

Bode took his hand in hers and led them to Lord Tam's manor. Best tell him they were there.

As Bodewhin and Riften walked the streets of Emond's Field, hand-in-hand, Rif kept a hand in his coat pocket, fingering the gold ring he had bought at the Black Tower. After all the crazy they had been through and survived through, perhaps it was the Will of the Wheel that he ask this single important question …

* * *

As the young couple walked away, Rand al'Thor grinned down at them. They had conducted themselves … perhaps not in the best of ways, but he had to admit he had done far worse in may circumstances. They had done well in a difficult circumstance and he could not be more proud.

Rand turned and vanished into the air. Perhaps it was time he visited Seanchan. He had never been there before …

* * *

As Bode and Rif walked the streets, a gentle breeze stirred their hair, rising to grow stronger and pass over the Two Rivers and on to the black tower slowly rising from the land of Shar'aman. It turned and rose north to the Tar Valon, bringing the smell of fall. The wind was not the ending. There are no endings to the Wheel of Time.

But it was _an_ ending …

 **Thank you all who supported this crazy endeavor. Your support and critique pushed me through the hard times. One story is finished, and more are soon to follow.**

 **I'm thinking of doing a drabble series for this continuity, to see snippets of Bode and Rif's future, such as children. Tell me what you think.**

 **And for those of you who still question Zavier's motives: he was unstable to begin with and it just got worse. not all evil is from the Dark One; men cam be just as bad.**

 **Good night, everybody! I hope to see you all soon!**


End file.
